The Origin of Sin
by jessisnotdeadyet
Summary: Post Season 8. Human Castiel finally finds Dean after months of chasing him across the country. But within minutes of their reunion, the now-human Cas is taken by some supernatural force. Sam has walked out on Dean yet again, meaning that he must search for Cas by himself. Eventual established Destiel, with hints of it throughout.
1. Chapter 1

Dean threw his head slowly back as he reclined into his chair, letting out a sigh of resigned frustration as his eyes met the ceiling of the motel room. Sammy's bedsheets lay rumpled and discarded upon his abandoned bed where he has left them. There was no other sign that he had ever been there at all.

Gone again, after yet another stupid argument. Hadn't he promised Sam that he'd fix this? Hadn't he told him he'd sort everything out? But now, at the time when Dean needed him the most, his brother had run out on him. Yet again Sam had chosen to get out rather than to face his demons, even though he should have realized by then that there was no escape from the life of the Hunters.

Dean couldn't do any of this without his little brother. As independent and cool he portrayed himself to be, he was in fact lost without Sam, his ever-present, ever-grounded Sammy. His brother was the only thing that Dean had left. Well, him and Cas. But Cas had been missing for months now; ever since the angels had fallen. So when Sam had walked out the bathroom door had taken a pounding. Meaning that it was now lying on the floor with its splintered hinges hanging off. Dean looked at it now, and closed his eyes under a tired hand as he regretted the damage. He was just so uncontrollable when it came to his brother.

He rose out of the chair eventually, and his footsteps were heavy as he made his way over to his bag and the pile of neatly folded clothes on his bed. As he began to pack them away the motel door burst open with a great bang as it hit the wall.

Dean whirled around, pulling his gun out in one swift movement as he did so, the barrel pointed perfectly accurately at none but Castiel, who stood breathlessly a few paces into the room.

"Cas?" Dean lowered his gun in shock.

"Hello, Dean." Cas was breathing heavily, as though he'd been running. But Cas didn't pant when he ran. For that matter, he hardly ever ran.

"Cas? What's wrong?" Dean asked concernedly as he made his way over to his friend, reaching out his hand to grip his arm.

Cas' eyes moved sheepishly away, and he looked down at the floor by his feet. "Dean," he said hesitantly, screwing up his face as though ashamed. "I –"

"Hey." Dean cut him off and caught his chin, pulling it so that Cas would look at him. When their eyes met, Dean's expression became a warm, joyous yet sad smile. "Where the hell have you been?" he breathed as he pulled Cas into a tight hug, wrapping his arms around the trenchcoat-clad angel and pulling him in close. "You could've been dead. You weren't answering me. What happened to you?"

Cas' body was stiff. "I couldn't get to you. You moved around too much. It was difficult for me to catch up."

Dean pulled away, but kept his hands firmly on Cas' upper arms as he scrutinised him. "What do you mean? You can appear out of nowhere. If you knew where I was then why couldn't you just… Come?"

"I'm not –" Cas inhaled sharply. "I'm not an angel anymore, Dean."

"What?" Dean spluttered, his brows pulling together in a confused frown.

"Metatron," Cas explained. "He wasn't trying to close Heaven. He was working a spell that cast all the angels out of Heaven. The first two parts of the spell – killing a Nephilim and cutting off a Cupid's bow – I did, and then Metatron took my Grace for the last part. You saw what happened after that."

Dean turned from the now-human Castiel with the back of his right hand pressed to his forehead as though fatigued. He took a few steps before he looked at Cas again, who bore the expression of a begging man, as though he was pleading for forgiveness, acceptance. He looked so shattered and helpless that Dean could do nothing but comfort him. "Cas," he began. "It's okay. You didn't know –"

"No, Dean." Cas shook his head. "I should have known. I should've seen it. Every time I've trusted someone they have betrayed me. Everyone except for you. Every time I try to do the right thing it turns out to be the worst thing I could possibly do. I should've known that Metatron would use me. Just like everybody else has. I should've believed you. I should have –"

"Cas." Dean's voice was firm as he laid a hand on his friend's shoulder to stop him. "You were just trying to do _something_. You didn't know Metatron would lie to you. There's no point in being mistrusting of everyone just because people in your past have deceived you. You were looking for someone to help you, that's all. You can't blame yourself for any of this."

"Dean…"

"'_Dean…'_ Nothing. You're here and you're safe and that's all that matters." Dean paused. "But man… You smell awful."

"I – What?"

"You smell seriously bad, Cas," Dean said, wrinkling his nose, but laughing at the same time. "When was the last time you had a shower?"

Cas looked alarmed. "Shower?"

"Yeah, Cas. It pours hot water over your body and you get soap and scrub yourself clean," Dean replied concernedly. "Are you telling me you haven't had a shower all this time?"

"I… Erm…"

Dean rubbed his eyes with finger and thumb. "Okay, okay. S'okay, Cas. We'll get you cleaned up." _God, I hope I don't have to help him shower, _he thought anxiously. "And, Cas? Have you… Err… Figured out how to… Erm… Use the… Erm… Use the toilet?" he blushed.

"Yes, Dean," Cas replied, squinting perplexedly.

"And you've slept, yeah?"

"Yes, Dean."

"So you had some money, then? For a motel?"

"No."

"What do you mean, 'No'?" Dean frowned. "Didn't you get a motel?"

Cas looked away, fidgeting with the buttons of his filthy coat, and Dean was filled with realization. "You slept on the streets?" he almost whispered.

"By the roadside, mostly," Cas corrected. "And sometimes in the seat of a car if I could get a ride."

"Jesus, Cas," Dean sighed, shaking his head. "How the Hell did you survive? Where'd you get food?"

"I… Stole it," he confessed guiltily, barely able to lift his head. "From market stalls, from people's houses. Turns out this coat is a good place to hide a loaf of bread or a bag of apples."

"Shit," Dean cursed. "Cas… I'm so sorry."

"Sorry for what, Dean?"

"Not sorry _for _anything," Dean said. "I'm just sorry _that _you had to go through that. Sorry I changed my phone number so you couldn't call me. Sorry that you're sweaty and tired and starving. You didn't deserve that, Cas."

"It's not your fault, Dean," Cas said sternly.

"Yeah, whatever." He inhaled sharply.

"I'm sorry too, Dean."

"Don't be," Dean smiled, and that smile sent warm shivers down Cas' spine. "You're here now."

Cas tilted his head to the side in that familiar way, relief flooding through his usual mask of serenity as he took in Dean's absolute understanding and the gladness that came with him having Cas back. Cas offered the Hunter a small, sheepish smile and Dean gladly widened his own to a grin of his own before patting his friend's shoulder and moving back to the bed to continue packing.

"Where's Sam?"

Dean's hands froze for an instant. "Sam's gone," he said stiffly, shoving his jeans in a little more viciously than was necessary. "You just missed him, actually."

Cas gave a slight nod. Then they both were still in the silence for a long while, neither moving. Dean broke through the quiet, speaking in a business-like fashion. "Talk to me, Cas," he requested.

Cas stumbled over his words in confusion. "I don't… I… There's nothing…"

"You're human, Cas," Dean stated firmly. "You must have something to say. Some questions…. Anything?"

Cas moved over to Dean's bed and sat down upon its edge. He clasped his hands together in front of his knees. Dean abandoned his packing and took a seat next to him, patiently watching the former angel as he drew in a deep breath. Cas' blue eyes flickered automatically towards Dean's, so unsure and vulnerable, but he saw Dean's to be steady, and this gave him confidence to speak.

"Being human… Isn't as easy as you make out. Without my Grace, I feel as empty as you would soulless. I feel empty and broken and _scared_, Dean." Cas' face flushed mutely as he confessed. "I'm scared of being killed or hurt, and I'm scared of you getting killed or hurt and me not being able to fix you. As an angel I never had to worry about ordinary knives or guns or even just traffic…" His laugh was short and bitter. "I know how… _Hard _it is to be you. To be… Alone, amongst other things." He wrung his hands together nervously, and Dean, sensing his anxiety, laid one of his over the top of them, making circling movements with his thumb, stilling Cas' fingers with a reassuring squeeze. Cas looked down at their hands and smiled sadly, giving Dean a soft glance. "Thank you," he said sincerely. A long pause.

"Dean?" Cas said. "Contact from another human being… Does it comfort you?"

"Well we aren't all badass," Dean smirked. "Everyone likes to know that there's someone there who's got your back."

"Have you got my back, Dean?" Cas asked, his voice small.

"Always," Dean confirmed. "I'm here for you, Cas. When you need me."

"And I'm here when you need me."

Dean couldn't find words to reply. He stood up instead, and shouldered his bag, his body inviting Cas to come with, which, with a second for Cas to appreciate this open acceptance after having made yet another grand mistake, he did.

He had crossed to the middle of the room and Dean was at the door, when he began to flicker. His image wavered in and out of existence as Cas looked down at himself, then back at Dean, terrified. "Dean!" he panicked.

Dean turned around, dropping his bag onto the floor as Cas' form flashed in and out of reality. "Cas!" he called.

"What's happening, Dean?" Cas freaked as the flickering became faster and faster, with each flash of his being there becoming shorter and shorter.

"Hold onto me!" Dean said, stretching out to try and grab his friend's returned outstretched hand.

"Dean!" Cas cried out as he disappeared, his desperate hand vanishing into nothing. Dean waited a second, but Cas didn't reappear.

"Cas?" Dean shouted into the empty room. "Cas!" Nothing. "Dammit!" he screamed, raising his hands up behind his head in fists of anguish. He knew he was gone.

In a heartbeat, Dean shot out of the door, throwing his bag onto his back and his coat over his arm. He did not look back nor did he hesitate as he fired up the Impala and drove furiously into the night.


	2. Chapter 2

Sam wasn't picking up his cell. It wasn't uncommon that he would ignore Dean after a fight, but Dean needed his brother's help. He had to find Cas. And when he did, whoever had taken him would pay dearly, most preferably with their life. He was so worried. They could do anything to him and he wouldn't have any immunity to the torture whatsoever. Cas was used to pain, but the ease with which his kidnappers could kill him truly frightened Dean. Cas had no way out, as he could barely use a gun and fighting without his angelic strength was near futile. The very thought of Cas being so exposed was terrifying, and it only added fuel to Dean's already raging incentive.

"Come on, Sam. Pick up," Dean muttered under his breath as he dialled the number again.

"This is Sam Winchester. Leave a message," the voicemail intoned. Dean snapped the phone shut angrily, and then threw it down on the passenger seat, finally giving up.

_Dammit, Sam,_ he cursed internally. But Dean knew that even if he had been able to get through to his brother, Sam would be no use. There were no leads, no clues, no nothing. Cas had disappeared without a trace. There was no way that Dean could get his friend back, even if he scoured all of Earth for a thousand years. Cas was gone. But something stopped Dean from truly believing it. He didn't know what, but it gave him courage, so he kept on driving.

* * *

Cas' surroundings were extremely familiar to him, although there were certain differences that marked this place out as being not the same. It had all the same décor as the stately room where Zachariah had taken Dean and Adam in previous times, but this room was a different shape, the table was a wooden oval, and the walls had a bluer tint to them. There were no burgers or beers upon the table here, only a single crystal glass of water.

Cas seemed to be entirely alone. No angels, no demons. Just him and the gruesome paintings upon the walls. Cas sat down in one of the four chairs that surrounded the ovular table and set his mind to plans for escape. It wasn't as though he could just fly out of there now. But before he could concentrate he first had to shove the memory of Dean's desperate plea out of his head. It was Purgatory all over again. It was almost as painful in itself as it was for Cas to be away from him.

First question. Who could have taken him, and who would have wanted to? There were no angels left, save for Metatron. And Cas knew that Metatron wouldn't have wanted this. He'd told Cas exactly what he wanted when he'd ripped the Grace from Cas' throat. Crowley, then? Surely not. Crowley would want Cas dead, not captured, all things considered. Crowley was ruled out then, especially now that the demon king could kill him so easily. He would not have taken Castiel in this way.

The design of the room Cas had identified as being angelic, even though Cas knew all angels to be cast out and Graceless. So what ethereal alternative was there that would classify with angels? Cas felt terrible for even thinking of it, but was it… God? God was powerful enough, as Cas had caused devastation enough to deserve to be excluded from the rest of the world, if God didn't want to kill him. Locking him away in a room seemed to be a sensible solution to prevent Cas from causing any more problems. So, due to a lack of a more suitable culprit, Cas had to assume that it was his Father who had done this, as much as it pained him to think it.

_Dean,_ Cas' thoughts pined. _Where are you, Dean?_ Cas shook himself, chastising his mind immediately. He couldn't think like that if he was going to stand this seclusion. The elder Winchester was not the best thing to think about, as the brother only increased Cas' sense of loneliness and longing for his company. He'd only just found him, for God's sake, and now he was even further away than he had been before. He hadn't even said goodbye. Not that Cas had ever been good at goodbyes.

* * *

The Impala's engine died as Dean twisted the key, parking it into the lot of the Budget Host Cloverland Hotel, Michigan. He didn't intend to book a room, but instead to sleep in his car for three or four hours before setting out again. There was no more important thing than getting Cas back; not even the temptation of pecan pie could make Dean pull over. He wouldn't have stopped then, but not sleeping for five days had taken its toll and Dean would be no good to Cas when he was too exhausted to think, let alone drive. He didn't even know what he was driving towards. No reason to travel in any direction at all. And Sam still wouldn't pick up the phone, which was just another cause for concern.

Dean closed his reddened, bloodshot eyes, and drifted off almost instantly.

_He was in the middle of nowhere. Some strange world had erupted around him, where the trees bore strange fruits of all weird varieties. The ones closest to him looked like silver fox tails where they hung from the branches of the leafy trees. There was no-one around, and Dean found himself wandering through the trees, plucking the fruits off the branches and placing them gently into a basket made of dried river reeds. There seemed to be no objective to this, and no end. He kept on walking._

_Where was this place? It was like nowhere Dean had seen before, but then was anything ever as it was in dreams? He ran his fingers across the trunks of the trees, feeling the roughness of their bark in perfect clarity. _Far too vivid,_ Dean thought, his suspicions rising._

_There was no wind, and no sound of birds as there would be in any usual orchard. It was unimaginably still and quiet and peaceful. Perhaps one might call it heavenly, but to Dean, that usually meant eerie. _Like something out of Narnia, _Dean scoffed as he plucked a leaf off the ground, and twirling it between his fingers._

_What was he doing here, really? He was collecting fruit, but for what purpose. He was not hungry. Was there someone else out there who he was collecting all this fruit for? Was there someone who he was to present this basket of goods to? Something inside him nodded. _Yes._ So he wasn't alone, then. Somewhere here there was another being who he had to find because they were hungry and they needed him to bring them something to eat. So bring them something to eat he would._

_He reached up into the next tree to grab the nearest fruit, with a conscious purpose now rather than impulse, when a snake from the grass sprung out and dug its fangs into Dean's calf. Dean howled in pain as the snake's jaws gripped tighter and tighter, injecting poison into his veins as it clung on tightly._

_Unable to do anything but, Dean ripped the snake and the huge chunk of his flesh it held away from him, flinging the creature across the forest. "Shit," Dean swore as he pressed his hand against his bleeding wound. There was no way to get the poison out, and Dean winced as he tore a strip off his shirt to hold against the mess that was his calf._

_Looking around, Dean spotted a pool of water just twenty metres from where he was crouched. He straightened himself up so that he was standing, and he began to limp over to the pool. His leg burned unpleasantly as the toxin started to take effect. "Crap," Dean hissed, falling upon his knees, unable to make it any further, clutching the grass in his weakness._

_His breathing became ragged and shallow as his pulse rate shot up. The poison clenched his heart with an iron grip, squeezing and squeezing, holding it still. Dean felt himself go limp as he collapsed onto his chest. His chest contracted with living breath just once more, then Dean Winchester lay unmoving in the vast forests of God's Garden._

Dean's eyes shot open, and his lungs heaved for breath. _Just a dream_, Dean reassured himself shakily as he sank back to rest against the seat once more.

A few seconds passed as Dean became calmer and more aware of the world once again. His first realization, and the most worrying to him, was that the sky was light and the Sun had risen high into the sky. He slammed the wheel with his palms in frustration. He had slept for far too long. Cas was waiting for him; he couldn't afford to waste time.

He fired up the engine and slammed on the accelerator without a thought for breakfast.


	3. Chapter 3

Cas had taken to pacing. As a human it seemed impossible for him to stay still for any great length of time. Cas had discovered since his arrival in the room that the glass of water upon the table magically refilled itself every time Cas became parched, and that there was a bathroom through a door at the far wall, so relieving himself was not an issue.

He had lost count of the days, as there were no timepieces to be found anywhere in the room, and counting hours, minutes and seconds in tallies scratched into the table with his fingernails had only been successful until Cas had first fallen asleep. On the floor, due to the absence of a bed. He could have been there any number of days, or weeks even. He had simply no way of knowing. So in his anxiety and boredom, he paced.

Back and forth the length of the room. To the far wall, and back again. There and back. There and back. Over and over again, as regular as Cas' strong heartbeats. Past the painting of Adam, past the painting of Eve. Past the painting of Eve, past the painting of Adam. Past the painting of Adam…

"Castiel."

The voice stopped him dead in his tracks, and Cas twisted around so sharply that his feet stumbled over themselves.

The smiling figure who greeted him was of average height, so just an inch or two smaller than Cas. His skin was pallid and mottled with purple and blue veins, but so translucent that even little red arteries could be seen beneath it. The man's head was dressed in long, thick hair the colour of rich wood, accompanied by the accessory of a short beard of the same qualities. His eyes, in contrast, were the blue of the mature forget-me-not. With mild amusement contained within the crinkles around his curving mouth, the man raised his hands out wide.

"Welcome," he said, his voice like treacle: dark and sticky, yet incredibly seductive. "I thought this interior might be to your taste. Angels seem to like this sort of thing, I have learned."

Cas narrowed his eyes at the stranger who stood in his Victorian suit across the table from him as he adopted an aggressive defensive stance. "Who are you?" he demanded threateningly.

The other man's smile morphed into a sly grin. "All in its time, dear Castiel," he replied as he turned his back on Cas, and instead began to study the painting on the wall before him. Cas took a wary step, moving around the table, his stance tense and that of a warrior.

"You know," the man said absently. "I've always admired the effort that humans put into making these." Cas continued to edge around the table, flinching at the man's voice. "They can spend years on just one painting, but in the end, what they paint is always completely inaccurate." Cas stalked ever closer, having cleared the table now. "At first I scorned them for it, but then I saw their _dedication_, and it changed my perception of art entirely." Cas opened his arms, preparing to grab his captor as he closed in, taking the final steps…

The man whirled around faster than Cas could comprehend and shoved him with inhuman force backwards in the space of a blink. He crashed into the table, which crumpled under his weight so Cas fell flat upon his back, his head hitting the ground with a crack. The man leapt onto him, pinning Cas' legs down with his knees and his hands gripped Cas' wrists like vices. Dazed and winded, Cas squirmed in a futile endeavour to get free from beneath his opponent.

"I suggest," the man hissed with chilling malice. "That you behave. For your sake," he spat.

Then, without sound or warning, the pressure relieved itself from Cas' aching body and the man vanished. Cas grimaced in pain as he pulled himself onto his feet. There was an instant and slightly bruise that had formed in its purplish splendour over his left cheekbone, and his head was throbbing where he'd hit it on the underside of the table. His ribs had also taken a severe beating, hence the winding, and Cas gasped shallowly as he pressed his fingers to his chest, checking for damage.

He spared a glance for the destroyed table, but his gaze lingered upon the small pile of shattered glass which lay but centimetres from the broken-off table leg. The remains of his water glass glinted teasingly in the bright light.

So that would be it then; his punishment. And Cas could just about guarantee that he wouldn't be getting a meal anytime soon either.

With a stoic sigh, Cas readied himself for his coming thirst.

* * *

Dean was pulled up on the side of the highway out of Michigan. His hands pressed heavily onto the roof of his car, and his head was bowed with teeth clenched in desperation. No Cas in Michigan. Not that he'd expected that there would be. But to have searched another city fruitlessly had been… Disheartening to say the least. He didn't even know why he was looking anymore. Cas wasn't anywhere.

He clenched a fist as he fought off the despair that threatened to envelop him in its massive dark folds. He wouldn't let himself give in to this feeling. He had to find Cas. He _had_ to. The alternative was not worth thinking about. He would go anywhere – everywhere – if it meant finding Cas. And Dean wouldn't find him anywhere on Earth; he'd really always known that, but he hadn't properly thought upon it until now.

He reached through the open passenger window of the Impala, and snatched his phone up from where it had been resting upon the seat. Sam wasn't answering, so Dean would just have to call the only other Hunter he could think of who would help him. And who was still alive (somehow).

"Hey, Garth," he said as the cheerfully optimistic, unorthodox but charming Hunter picked up.

"Dean!" Garth's voice sounded excitedly through the line. "Great to hear from you, man. It's been too long, too long, man…"

"Yeah, Garth, you too." Dean rolled his eyes. "Look, I need some help."

"Sam not doing your research anymore, huh?" Garth laughed. "Gotta get me to do your research now?"

"Shut up, Garth," Dean snapped. "Sam's just taken a break. And Cas has gone missing."

"Cas as in… The angel, Cas? Your Cas?"

"Yes, the angel Cas. My Cas," Dean said, exasperated. "Wait – No… Not my Cas… Just… Just Cas –"

"Okay, okay. But I thought he'd gone missing months ago, you know, when Heaven all went crazy. Did he come back?"

Dean walked around to the driver's door as he responded. "Yeah, he came back about six days ago. Showed up in my motel room just after Sam left. But he's human, Garth. He's not an angel anymore. He said Metatron took his Grace. But literally five minutes after he got there he disappeared. Something took him, and now I've gotta find him."

A long sigh crackled through the speaker. "So you find Cas, you lose him, and now you need me to help you find him because Sam's gone off 'cause of that thing with the demons…"

"Okay, Garth. That's enough," Dean practically snarled down the phone.

"Alright, alright," he appealed hastily. "So what do you need?"

"A way into Purgatory."

"Dean, whatever you're thinking of, it's a bad idea," the Hunter warned sincerely.

"Yeah, probably," Dean shrugged as he climbed into the car, turning the key in the ignition. "But I still gotta do it. Do you know any rogue Reapers or something?"

"I'll have a look around." Garth's tone was cautious. "But this ain't gonna turn out well, Dean. I know you want to find Cas, but you've gotta stay safe, man."

"I will, Garth," Dean said as he pulled back onto the highway. "Call me if you find anything."

He closed his phone with a snap, and threw it back onto the passenger seat. He gripped the wheel tightly, and set his eyes forward, fixing them on a destination that he could not yet see.


	4. Chapter 4

Cas wet his lips with a quick flick of his parched tongue. He hadn't had a drink in hours, but it might have been days for all the good his starved brain was doing him. He'd forced himself to keep as still as he possibly could, breathing only through his nose to conserve what little water he had left. But this thirst and painful hunger meant that Cas was becoming rapidly weaker, weak enough to warrant thoughts of death by dehydration.

He's tried to sleep as much as he could but there was no rest when all he could feel was the churning of his empty stomach and the sandpaper texture of the inside of his mouth. Torture, Cas decided, need be no more than to simply remove water, food and sleep from a human's resources.

Cas could feel his body dying. His organs were straining against the depravity, but they were shutting down even so. The agony in his abdomen was close to unbearable and his eyes stung ferociously having not have blinked in more time than he could remember.

He hoped Dean would find him soon. Because he didn't have much time.

* * *

"Dean Winchester. What can I do for you?" The Reaper's voice was literally dripping with cynicism.

"I need to get to Purgatory." Dean was as cold as stone. "And you're going to take me there. And then you're going to bring me back."

The Reaper laughed with sadistic mirth. "And why would I do that?"

"I would say 'If you don't, I'll kill you', but if I killed you, you still wouldn't help me." Dean toyed with the angel blade in the waistband of his jeans. "So I'm going to make you a deal instead."

The Reaper's eyes lit with ill-disguised interest. "And what sort of deal –" Every word was weighted. "Could you possibly make me?"

Dean lifted his chin slightly, everything about his posture challenging and assertive. "What do you _want?_"

"No restrictions?" he asked with a raised eyebrow.

"No restrictions," Dean confirmed.

The rogue showed his teeth in a malevolent grin of satisfaction. "Then," he said. "I want… Hmm… A piece of your soul. That'd do very nicely. Not all of it, mind. Just a piece. Nothing you'd miss."

Dean frowned, aghast. "My soul? You want a piece of my _soul?_"

"Yes. Give it to me and you get forty-eight hours in Purgatory before I come to fetch you," the reaper dealt, watching Dean as though he was a fly caught in a spider's web.

Dean cleared his throat nervously. "Which piece would you take?" he asked eventually.

The Reaper contained a smirk. "Only the part that makes you able to forgive. The part that allows you to say 'Apology accepted' whenever someone says they're sorry. I wouldn't have thought you needed that bit, Dean. Maybe if you thought that someone you care about would betray you… But you surely don't think that, do you?"

Sick to his stomach, Dean floundered helplessly. He needed to get to Purgatory, and through Purgatory, Hell. Cas needed him, and if this was the only way… "_Son of a bitch…"_ he breathed too quietly for the Reaper to hear. He inhaled waveringly.

"Alright," he said shakily. "Take it."

The Reaper's eyebrows shot up in false surprise. As if he hadn't expected it. "Just like that?"

"Just like that. Dean composed his face so that the Reaper couldn't see his fear, just as he always did whenever he was afraid. "Now, before I change my mind."

The man came forward, coming close and into Dean's personal sphere. He reached his hand out and placed his fingers in a claw just below Dean's ribcage. Dean flinched at his touch. "This will hurt," the Reaper said, all humour gone. And then he plunged his hand deep into Dean's chest.

Dean screamed out into the darkness, his whole body tense as he howled in torment. His screams became scorching gasps as the Reaper began to retract his hand, as his soul was ripped, torn into pieces. It was a hotter fire than what burned on Earth, and it singed the edges of Dean's very being. His forgiveness was wrenched out with one final jerk, then there it was, glowing brightly between the Reaper's long fingers. Dean stared at it in some sort of twisted fascination, and watched as the Reaper fed it into a little bottle much like the one that Anna's Grace had been contained within, and then as he stowed it into his jacket pocket.

"What are you going to do with it?" Dean panted as he clutched his chest with one hand and wiped the spittle from his chin with the other.

The Reaper smirked and tapped the side of his nose. "Ready?"

Dean shook himself, forgetting about his deal, focusing now. "Ready."

He landed on his hands and knees in the forests of Purgatory, grazing his palms on the dry, rocking ground. "Sorry about that," the Reaper said, not looking at Dean. "But when you said 'Ready' I took it as a confirmation of readiness. I assume this is where you wanted to be?"

Dean found his feet and looked around at the familiar landscape, and at the even more recognisable dead bodies that littered the ground. "Yeah," Dean groaned as he rubbed the mud off his stinging palms.

"Then I shall see you in forty-eight hours. Don't be late. I don't like waiting for customers." Dean looked to where the Reaper had stood, but the rogue had already disappeared.

Dean took a moment to get his bearings, breathing deeply to steady himself, then drawing his angel blade out in preparation for inevitable attack. Twenty-four hours to search Purgatory. Twenty-four to search Hell. "I'd better get going, then," Dean stated to himself. Then he strode away from the beheaded vampire corpses and away from the fallen log and further into the purity of Purgatory.

* * *

Cas' eyes couldn't stay open anymore. His heart thumped so slowly that a whole minute might pass without counting more than thirty beats. He felt himself slipping.

Dean would be so angry. Angry at himself for not being quick enough. He couldn't forgive himself easily; it wasn't in his nature to let himself forget. That was, if Dean ever found his body. It was entirely possible that the only thing Dean would ever know was that Cas had gone and had never come back. And even though he would know in his heart that Cas was dead, he'd never stop looking. Not even if it tore him apart.

"How are you feeling, Castiel?" the man said gleefully as he appeared.

Cas opened his eyes in alert response, barely having the energy but forcing himself to look up. They were bloody and weeping as he caught the man's gaze. "Dear me, Castiel," he chuckled. "You look dreadful. But then, that was rather the point."

He came over then, and squatted down next to where Cas lay on the ground, propped up against the wall. He placed one hand on Cas' forehead. He was so weak that he couldn't even attempt to pull away. "I brought you something," the man said seriously now, reaching into his inner jacket pocket. Panic grew in Cas' eyes.

"No, no, Castiel," whispered the man. "It's nothing that'll hurt you. In fact, it might be the very thing that saves you."

A white-blue light pierced through the room, glaring into Cas' pupils, searing into his vision as the little glass vial emerged from the folds of the man's suit jacket, held tightly in the palm of his hand. "You know what this is? It's your Grace," the man purred, spinning the bottle between his fingers, observing it at every angle. "Well, it's not exactly your original Grace, but this one will do.

"That angel tablet of yours really is a _powerful_ thing. All you need is a fraction of a human soul and you can turn it into an angel." He leant even closer, his tips almost touching the flesh of the dying man's ear. Cas' lungs spasmed in alarm. "I want you to be an angel for this, Castiel," he crooned in a whisper. "I want you to fall so _hard_."

The glass bottle shattered with a noise like a thunderclap as his fist tightened around it.


	5. Chapter 5

"Cas!" Dean's shouts bounced off the trees. "Cas!"

The silence that came back was too absolute. The whistling of the wind and the rustling of the dry leaves on the ground was the only thing that Dean could hear. He tensed up, his grip tightening on his weapon, preparing for the attack that he was certain would come.

A low, hissing snarl alerted Dean to the Leviathan's presence. He whirled on one foot, slicing across its neck as he did so. The thing's head dropped to the ground with a dull thud, and its body followed shortly after, its knees buckling and folding beneath the crumpling torso. Black blood oozed from its stump of a neck as Dean scanned the trees for any more. True to his expectations, a pair of vamps and a woman werewolf slunk out from the cover of the trees, each figure crouching in a defensive stalking stance, as though they wanted to attack but were reluctant to take their chances against the man who'd just beheaded a Leviathan.

Dean's pupils dilated as adrenaline shot through his body, preparing for the fight. His breaths came regularly as he raised his wicked weapon, bracing himself.

The first vampire lunged straight at Dean's throat, his hands outstretched, dirty fingernails clawing at the empty air as Dean dived under his grasp, slicing upwards with his blade as he did so, carving through the vamp's belly all the way up to catch his heart. Dean followed this with a quick back-slice to behead the vampire behind him, then pulling the swing around to finish off the first.

The werewolf lurked back, and had maintained a healthy distance from Dean, seeming to have thought better of attacking after having watched her companions be gutted and decapitated. She was wise to have kept away, but Dean had different plans for her.

"Where's the angel?" he growled as he edged towards her.

She stumbled back, eerie eyes widening in fear as she saw that there was no way out. "I said, where's the angel?" Dean roared, snarling each word as he advanced menacingly towards the floundering she-wolf.

"I don't know, I don't know, I don't know…" Her terrified voice was enough to make Dean stop. There was something familiar about her, but Dean couldn't place it.

"If you're lying to me…" he threatened.

"I'm not, I'm not, please," she begged. "Please, Winchester. Please don't hurt me."

Dean tensed again. "How do you know my name?" he demanded.

"I – Your brother, he –" she choked on her frightened sobs. "I'm Madison, Madison from San Francisco," she said. "I got turned into a werewolf and you tried to cure me but it didn't work, so Sam had to… Had to kill me."

"Madison?" he frowned in confusion. "As in, that wolf girl Sam slept with and then shot in the heart, Madison?"

She nodded, relief pouring through her as Dean stood down. "Yeah. That Madison."

"You got sent here, then? After Sam killed you."

"Yes. I thought it was Heaven at first," she confessed with a derisive snort. "But then all these _things_ came and tried to kill me. I'm surprised I lasted this long, to be honest."

"Yeah, I'll bet." Dean looked around for more monsters, but there were none to be seen, and the woods were quiet enough without being deadly.

"What happens when we die here, Dean?" Madison asked suddenly.

Dean looked at her curiously. "I don't know," he said honestly. "Pop out of existence, get reborn here again… I seriously don't know. Wish I did, though."

"Me too. If I knew what'd happen then maybe I wouldn't be so afraid to go." Her eyes glistened with unexpected human tears, as though she'd been waiting so long with these thoughts but had been unable to express them in seven years. Dean's heart shifted in his chest as his instincts reached out to comfort her. "Maybe all I want is a way out," she continued. "But it's so hard to let myself be torn to shreds by some Leviathan or vampire or other Godforsaken creature when I'm so afraid of what could happen. I could go to Hell, for all I know. But I'm tired of this, Dean. I'm so sick of it all."

"Don't you start talking like that," Dean whispered. "If you start talking like that… You'll stop believing in yourself. And then you'll lose everything and everyone. When I started talking like that, I nearly destroyed half the world. No exaggeration. And I would have let everybody down if it hadn't been for Sammy. And his stupid faith in me."

"But I don't _want_ to go on, Dean. I don't _want_ to live if the alternative is better than this," Madison stressed, desperately trying to get her words out in the correct order to help the Hunter understand. "Isn't Purgatory meant to be the place you go to before Heaven? What if dying here kills the monster inside of you and gets rid of all the bad things you did when you were… not human?"

Dean stared at her incredulously. "You think that's what happens?"

"It's what I like to believe happens, yeah," she shrugged. "That's what happens in the Bible, isn't it? Except with the word 'monster' in a less literal sense."

"Yeah, but –"

"I know it's an off chance, but there's nothing else to go on so I might as well believe it."

"And if you go to Hell?"

"I guess that's why I haven't done it yet," she laughed. "But that's not exactly the problem. The problem is that I can't bring myself to let myself go down without fighting. This _monster _part of me, it won't go down easily. It scratches its way to the surface every time I get close. And I just let it take over. I let it rule my mind until I'm safe again, and then I can't go anywhere."

"So you want to die," Dean said slowly. "But the werewolf part of you won't let you kill yourself?"

"Pretty much. And yeah, it sucks just as much as you'd think."

He couldn't look at her anymore. He felt like this was on him. This bright, young girl wanting to die. It was the saddest thing. Madison didn't deserve Purgatory. "Dean," Madison said urgently, catching his arm whilst being careful to keep her claws from digging into his flesh. "If I help you, will you kill me?" Her eyes were fevered with wanting. "Will you let me go to Heaven?"

"You don't know that's what happens," he whispered, reluctantly shuffling on his feet, looking at the ground.

"Anything is better than an eternity here," she countered, determined. "Even if I go to Hell I'll at least know what happens to people who wind up here and there'll be some sort of change to my existence. And if I snuff it altogether, then that'd be great too."

He paused for a moment before pulling away from her, sadness welling up with a great weight inside him, and guilt seeping through his veins as he made his decision. "Alright. Yes," he said quietly. "If that's what you want."

Madison smiled warmly with gratitude. "Thank you, Dean."

His next breath was loud and long. "If you're gonna help me, you might need this," he said, reaching into his jacket and bringing out the demon knife, offering it to Madison by the handle.

"No thanks," she grinned, revealing her fangs. "Not my style."

"O-kay," he said, stowing it back into his pocket. "Let's go find Cas." He started to head off.

"Who's Cas?" Madison asked as she jogged a few steps to catch up. "Is he the angel?"

"Yeah, sort of. He's not really an angel anymore, though." He stepped lightly but quickly, ducking under a low branch as he advanced. "His name's actually Castiel."

Madison smiled cheekily. "And you call him Cas." Her voice was thick with implications. "And you come all the way to Purgatory to look for him."

Dean scowled. "I'm going further than that, sweetheart. I'm going all the way to Hell."

"That's a lot for just one unimportant angel-now-human."

"He's not unimportant to me," Dean said shortly. "He's my friend. And he's family. So yeah, I'm going to find him. Doesn't matter where he is or what I have to do to get him back."

"What about Sam?"

Dean's voice became strung. "Sam's not with me."

Madison took this as her cue to stop talking, and so they continued through the forest without further conversation, only using hand signals to point out potential danger every now and again.

They may have been wandering for nine hours when they became close to the portal between Earth and Purgatory. Dean didn't know exactly what had brought him to this point save for familiarity. "Stay close," he ordered, and suddenly alert, Madison kept herself at Dean's back, looking over her shoulder furtively at regular intervals.

And then Dean saw him. Broken into two pieces; head and torso separated, and blood crusted brown on the ground around him. A strange mixture of dark red and black stained the man's gently parted lips. Benny.

"Aw, Benny, no," he whispered, going over to his comrade vampire, who lay in resignation with compassion and peace etched into the creases of his kind face.

Dean crouched, and reached out to close his friend's wide blue eyes. Caught with sorrow, Dean pressed his other hand to his mouth, clutching back the tears that would have begun flow should he have let them. It was his fault for sending him after Sammy in the first place. Benny had been alive again, alive to make himself a new life. He'd been happy, at least for a while. And Dean had torn it all away from him so that he could have Sam back. But in recovering one brother, he'd lost another. Benny was gone, and Dean only had himself to blame.

"Was he someone you knew?" Madison shocked him out of his stricken reverie, and he jerked involuntarily.

"Yeah." Dean rose to his feet again. "He was… A good friend. When I was stuck here he helped me get back to the real world."

"You got stuck here? Wow, when? Were you a monster too?" she said. "How'd he get you out?"

"Through there," he said, and directed Madison's gaze up to where the shimmering blue rip rested atop the rockface. "And no, I was a human. Stood too close to exploding Dick. But it won't work for you; only humans can get through."

"Exploding Dick?" she asked incredulously. "Wait, no. I'm not even gonna ask." Madison didn't take her eyes off the gateway. "Thanks for that bit of information. So you're gonna get out through there this time?"

"No. A Reaper's coming for me. And for Cas, if he's here."

"Any chance this Reaper could pick up three?"

"Madison," Dean said apologetically. "Even if I could take you out of here, you'd have no body to go back to. You'd just wind up back here. I'm sorry."

She shrugged. "Whatever. Guess it's back to Plan A, then." Dean didn't respond. "Castiel isn't in Purgatory, as far as I can tell. I'd be able to sense his human life force or something if he was," she said lightly, switching the topic. "So how're you getting into Hell, genius?"

"There's a portal. You follow the river until you reach the place where three trees grow as one."

"Okay, Mr Poet," she snorted. "Which way?"

"There."

The river wound on for many miles, and Dean soon grew tired of its seemingly never-ending stretch. His eyes became weary and every tree seemed to be made of three as they focused and unfocused before him. He checked his watch. _One hour left in Purgatory if I want twenty-four in Hell,_ he thought as he finally managed to get the time. _Cutting it a bit close._

"I see it!" Madison exclaimed out of the blue, suddenly excited.

Dean scanned the horizon, but his eyes were pitifully poor compared to the she-wolf's, and even when he squinted he could not see. "Where?"

"There, Dean!" she pointed off into the distance. "Come on!"

They hit a run, Dean following behind the bounding Madison. He couldn't keep up with her bottomless energy, and she reached the opening before he had cleared three-quarters of the distance. Her laugh was full and rich as he caught up, the exertion leaving him panting and hot. "Jesus," he wheezed, bent over with his hands pressing down on his bent knees. "You could've slowed up a bit."

"Sorry," she smirked. "But I was under the impression that you haven't got all the time in the world."

"That's true." Dean straightened. They rested a while, smiling and panting slightly. It was somewhat peaceful until a cracking twig in the background sent him into a whirl of deadly viciousness. "What was that?" he said, rolling up onto the balls of his feet, tense.

"I don't know," Madison murmured back, her own eyes flashing around the trees, searching for an attacker.

"Dean Winchester."

Dean spun around, curling his weapon back, preparing for a swing as he did so. "Gordon," he said, voice tight, as he saw the ex-Hunter vampire smiling sadistically at him.

"I wasn't expecting to see you here, Dean," Gordon sneered. "But I am ever so glad I did."

"Go," Dean said quietly to Madison, who had frozen at the sight of the fanged monster.

"No, no," Gordon smirked. "Please stay. It would be such a shame to have you miss this opportunity to watch Dean Winchester die."

"I'm not dying here, Gordon," Dean snarled. "You are."

Gordon cocked his head to the side, amused. "We'll see. Because we both know the only reason you survived our last encounter was because Sammy was there to help you out. He's not here, is he? I'd have loved to waste him too."

"Go to Hell."

"Oh, Dean, I'm pretty sure I'm already there."

"Really?" Dean said, pushing his bottom lip out to show mocking contemplation and looking around as though appraising his surroundings. "'Cause I've been to Hell, and this looks nothing like it."

Gordon was momentarily taken aback. "So where am I?"

Dean gave Gordon a smirk of his own. "Purgatory, you fugly dick," he said gleefully. "It's where all the bad little monsters go when they get their nasty heads get chopped off."

Gordon showed Dean his fangs indignantly. "So what did you do to get yourself to Purgatory, Dean?" he asked, his smart-assed mouth an ugly grin. "What kind of freak are you?"

"Oh, I'm not a freak, Gordy," Dean winked. "I just fancied a holiday and I've got the right contacts. Great hunting round here, I heard. Thought it was ideal."

"Alriiiight," Gordon drawled, and his grin widened, eyes lighting up. "Then what about this little bitch?"

"Actually that's surprisingly accurate." Madison's voice held strong. "But slightly crude, if you ask me."

"Ah," Gordon breathed. "A werewolf. Should have known by the eyes. Lovely company you keep, really, Dean." His burgundy eyes never left Madison's emotionless face. "Shame she's going to have to be the one to watch her only friend left get killed in a somewhat tragic "accident"," he quoted.

Gordon didn't give them a second to react, but Dean didn't need one. His body flowed like fluid, without thought, smoothly and flawlessly. He was a Hunter, and he was strong. He'd been doing this all his life. He ducked away from Gordon's lunge and narrowly avoided the grazing teeth that snapped at his neck. There was a bark and a growl, and then he heard Madison's body slam against a tree and her whimper as she fell to the ground. Dean swung his blade down to connect with Gordon's thigh, but Gordon was quick. He had been a Hunter too, and a good one. Dean knew how capable he was, as his skills as a Hunter had been impressive. But his lack of compassion or care made him insane, and insanity made for an even more dangerous enemy. Dean had barely recovered from his miss before Gordon sprang at him again.

Gordon slammed into Dean's chest with the force of a crashing wave, and Dean flew backwards, Gordon falling on top of his chest. Dean clamped his hands hard around Gordon's neck and pushed backwards with all of his strength, foaming at the mouth with the effort it took to keep Gordon's fangs from his throat.

Suddenly Madison flung herself at Gordon, knocking him off Dean and sending them both tumbling down the slight hill and onto the rocks that pierced their skin and stabbed their ribs. Madison cried out as a sharp rock impaled itself into her side. Gordon was on her in an instant, clawing at her face, slamming his fists into her stomach. Her fangs snapped wildly at the air and her fingernail claws scratched desperately at Gordon's chest, but to little profit. He sank his mouth to her belly and sliced across it, his venom seeping into her bloodstream as they ripped and tore through her skin and exposed her organs to the air. Madison screamed, and the sound reverberated through Dean's skull, her agony translucent in its noise.

"Madison!" he yelled despairingly. His eyes were furtive as he looked back at Gordon, who was laughing malevolently with delight. "You BASTARD!" Dean screamed, and he lunged.

But Gordon caught his arm, disarming Dean fluently and punching him in the neck with enough force to cause Dean to start coughing violently as he choked. Gordon grinned in triumph as he held Dean in front of him by the lapels of his jacket. "You're mine now," he hissed victoriously.

Dean coughed up a mouthful of blood which dribbled onto his chin, but he looked Gordon right in the eyes and sent him a brief smile. "Not yet, I'm not."

And Gordon frowned, but his bemusement only lasted a second before his arms dropped and he sagged weakly to the dirt. "Dead man's blood, bitch," Dean huffed exhaustedly. He threw the tiny, bloody dagger he'd stabbed Gordon with into the dirt, then he bent to pick up his weapon. "Enjoy Hell, douchebag," Dean rasped. And then the blade fell, severing Gordon's head from his shoulders.

He stood for a second, just breathing, trying to get his lungs to function properly again as he massaged his throat. And then he remembered Madison. He crouched by her side, and her eyelids fluttered open, tired and weary, but alive. Injured beyond all repair, but alive to give her final message. Her cracked and bloodied lips parted and they rattled with shaking gasps.

"This is it, then," Madison said, a worn smile working its way woodenly onto her exhausted mouth. "Time for me to go."

Dean might have broken there and then, and might have carried her out of Purgatory in the veins of his arms and dumped her into some unwitting body of another young, beautiful girl. He couldn't leave her like this. But then he saw how every muscle of her body had relaxed and saw how _relieved _she was. Like she couldn't have waited a second longer for them to get there at last. She hadn't fought because of Dean; she'd fought because she wanted this over. And Dean couldn't deny her now. As wrong as leaving her would feel, this was her release.

"Yeah, I guess so," he said.

She reached up her arms with strenuous effort and pulled him into a tight hug. Dean hugged her back, refusing to think about everything that this wonderfully brave girl had had to face in her life, and everything she had died for. Because she'd become an unwitting monster, she'd had no life, and certainly no afterlife. But her death then and her death now… They were something to be proud of.

"It's okay, Dean," she said, cupping his face tenderly. "This was what I wanted. And it's not like it hasn't happened before."

Wetness licked his eyelashes as he embraced her. "Thanks for everything, Madison," he choked out. "I mean it."

"No," she laughed faintly. "Thank _you_."

Madison pulled Dean down to kiss his scruffy cheek. Her lips were soft and grateful and fond. Tears began to spill out of her eyes as she blinked. "Tell Sam I'm okay?" she croaked.

"I will," Dean murmured into her hair, rocking her cold, blood-stained body gently.

"And that I forgive him," she sniffed. "I shouldn't think he's forgiven himself."

Dean took hold of her hand, and squeezed. He held her tightly as her last sigh dragged the weight of a ton of pure liberation and animation faded from her peaceful face. He held her limp body and lowered it to the ground with as much delicacy as he could manage. Once she was rested, he laid a long, sweet kiss upon her forehead. _Goodbye,_ he thought before he stepped over her lifeless corpse and into the darkest realms of Hell.


	6. Chapter 6

"Hello again, Castiel," the bearded man said, appearing in the beautiful room once more.

"Let me go," Cas demanded sharply, moving threateningly towards him.

He laughed maliciously. "Oh, Castiel," he said. "I don't think so just yet." The man studied his fingernails for dirt, casually slouching and completely unimpressed by Castiel's hostile behaviour. "There's something I need you to do first."

"And what is that?" Cas was bitter.

"Firstly," the man said with a backwards flick of his wrist. "I'm going to get you back into Heaven. And then you need to go to the Garden. I'm sure you know that there is a tree there, with wide branches and bearing red apples. I want you to pick one and take a bite."

Cas narrowed his eyes. "You're talking about the Tree of Knowledge."

"Yes, I am," he purled, grinning.

"Then you're –"

"The snake? he said innocently. "Indeed." His eyes glinted devilishly.

"You son of a bitch," Cas snarled. "You want _me _to eat from the Tree of Knowledge? For what purpose?"

"I thought you needed a little push in the right direction," he replied, twisting his hair absently as he studied Cas.

"I know the difference between good and evil," Cas growled.

"I beg to differ," the snake said. "I've been walking this world for some time, Castiel. And I've seen what you've done. The decisions you make are often rather disastrous, are they not? I would go as far to say that you don't seem to know the difference at all."

The angel clenched his fists, as though through this he could hold back all the regret that he felt for past events. As though he could build a fort-like prison for all the pain and suffering that he had caused, and all the damage that he had done with a simple physical gesture. The man contained his sadistic pleasure as he watched Cas squirm.

"Let me go." Cas was as stone, but inside he was begging.

"No."

"Dean will find me. And he'll kill you when he does," Cas said, weakening.

"Ah, Dean," the snake-man sighed. "You really believe he can find you here? That _Hunter_. He's a shabby representation of a man at best. And yet you think that he is the part of you that has the most worth. Can't you see, Castiel, that if you didn't have him weighing you down, you could be so much more?"

"I used to think that," Cas said firmly. "There was more than one time when I believed that I didn't need him." His true form began to glow within him as he became resolute. No longer fearful of this bastard, he looked him straight in the eye, mocking his ignorance. "But we're family," he said. "And Dean knows better than anyone what that means. It means we protect each other. We all make mistakes when we're lonely or frightened. And family's there to stop you being lonely. To stop you being afraid. Dean is _everything _to me. I would die for him _again_ and _again_, and I have. So don't you dare assume that I would be better without him."

The serpent was temporarily silent, but his expression betrayed nothing but disappointment at Cas' words. He looked at his nails once more, breathing loudly as he exhaled. "Well," he said contemplatively. "Then it's a shame that Dean's stuck in Hell for the time being, isn't it?"

Cas was dumbstruck. "Dean's in Hell?"

"Yes; he's looking for you, actually," he said distractedly. "I don't reckon he'll get out this time. Not when there's that big mess with his brother and the demons."

"What do you mean?" Cas blinked confusedly. "What about Sam?"

"Of course. Dean didn't tell you. But then I suppose he didn't get much time." Cas bristled angrily, and the man looked up through his eyebrows, one raised higher than the other. "Sam," he said. "After he nearly cured Crowley, released that pompous dick to let him go back downstairs and start running Hell again. But Crowley went to him about a week afterwards and asked Sam for some… Help. Crowley does _want_ to be human again, somewhere inside his sick heart, but he also wants to stay in power so that some psychotic demon like Abaddon can't take over and cause chaos and destruction. So he went to Sam to ask for regular doses of purified blood. It's some way for him to… How did he put it…? Ah yes, get _redemption_ whilst remaining a demon. You see, he started to lose what Sam had given him as the blood began to wear off. What was left of it didn't want that. So he asked Sam for more. And Sam said yes, much against our dear Dean's wishes.

"Then I heard that Crowley hasn't just been coming to the surface to collect his drugs. He's actually been transporting Sam down to Hell to deliver the goods. Dean, of course, feels that such a thing is stupidly dangerous and yet Sam will not stop. Dean doesn't trust Crowley not to trap Sam down there permanently, which is perfectly understandable. And he doesn't trust Crowley not to suck his brother dry either. So yes, Dean has an issue with Sam at this time. When Dean's worried he tends to get more angry than he probably should."

"I don't understand," Cas poked. "Why would Sam do that for Crowley?"

"He pities him," the man shrugged. "Or he feels sorry that he couldn't cure him then. Or both. I don't really understand him myself. But if it was me, I would want the King of Hell as my ally, not my enemy."

Cas nodded slowly, still somewhat dumbstruck. But more than he was baffled, he was concerned. About Sam, yes, but mainly about Dean. Firstly, he was in Hell looking for him. Secondly, he would probably never get out because the demons would likely choke him as soon as they saw him. And thirdly, his brother was becoming a danger to himself again, and that put Dean in a risky position as: a) he could no longer rely upon him and b) if anything _was_ to happen to Sam, Dean would throw himself mindlessly into the fire to save him. Dean needed his Sam, and without him he would be an emotional and very vulnerable wreck.

"I need to go to Dean," Cas said urgently, pleading with no shame now. "Please let me go. Please. I need to help him." Every fibre of him begged. If this serpent didn't let him find Dean, then God only knew what would happen to him. If God even bothered to keep track anymore.

"Sorry. Can't do that," the snake smirked repulsively. "Dean's going to have to deal with this one by himself."

"Can't or won't?" Cas retorted snarkily through gritted teeth.

"Won't," the man winked.

"Please. He needs me."

"Nope."

Cas lunged at his captor in rage and hatred, but he just disappeared and appeared again on the other side of the room, unaffected. Cas could have roared in frustration, but he pushed it down into the pit of his stomach, adamant that he wouldn't let himself lose control. The serpent could have no such power over him; he wouldn't allow it. "Let. Me. Go," he said, every word separated with pauses of impossible fury.

"Sorry," the man hissed, grinning. "Actually," he laughed. "I'm not sorry at all."

* * *

Hell was dark. And it was burning. Blazing with the screams of a hundred million souls and the merciless, maniac laughter of the demons who sliced into the essences of those who had fallen. Dean winced and shuddered as the memories of the knife flooded his own mind, tormenting him just as much now as it had done at the time.

A thousand different turnings chased Dean around the Underworld, throwing him headfirst into every grotesque room and passage, each containing a different nightmare. But though these things haunted Dean, he had seen all of it before. Lived it all before. It was not the worst part.

The very worst part was that every demon he saw, they didn't try to kill or capture him, knock him flat to the ground or take him to Crowley. They were snickering at him. Smiling and laughing in glee, and slapping him on the back when they passed. _"Welcome back"_, they were saying._ "Welcome home, Dean Winchester", "Thanks for stopping Sam from closing the Gates of Hell", "Coming to work the rack again?"_

He could barely stand the stench of their appreciation of him. Their _gratitude_. It took all his strength not to bring out the knife to stab them each one of them or to slice their snarky heads off.

Every lonely cell he went past, every hanging, impaled body cried out, begging. He was as good as an illusion to them, yet another demon come to abuse them. And yet they still clung to the hope that he might be their glorious saviour. Every soul he left behind weighed heavily upon his conscience.

The corridors became wider as he progressed and wove through their mad patterns. There was a red light that grew ever brighter, and it seared terror into Dean, as much as he denied that it was there. It meant he was getting close to Crowley, and that was the worst idea possible. But it was the quickest way to find Cas. And, with any luck, Sam would be there. Not that Dean wanted him to be down in Hell, but if it was going to save his life and make this a whole lot easier then perhaps Dean could forget about this one.

He turned the corner. The light at the end of this corridor was almost blinding. Dean knew this was it. He drew the knife from his pocket and stepped forward in a hunting stance, quietly. Crowley would know he was here by now, so there was no point in being so silent, but it wasn't in Dean's nature to barge into somewhere he didn't know whether he'd get out of. Unless it was Sammy who was in danger. Or Cas.

The corridor opened out onto a huge hall of red marble and rippled glass screens that flickered with the reflections of the fiery torches along the massive walls. Dean looked up at the ceiling, which seemed to stretch up for an eternity. Here, Hell was beautiful. Here it was light and elegant and rich with gold and glamour. It was Crowley's style, after all.

"Dean," Crowley said, clapping his hands as he greeted the Hunter. Dean's neck snapped around as quickly as a viper snags its prey. "How pleasing it is to see you."

Dean's lip curled in a sarcastic smile. "Crowley."

The demon spread his arms, his eyebrows raised in the cocky confidence that blossomed from his pores. "What can I do for you, Dean?" he asked amiably. "If you're looking for your brother –"

"I'm not looking for Sam," Dean said, cutting across the King of Hell with venom.

Crowley squinted, amusedly curious. "Then what… Are _you_… Doing _here?"_

Dean glared at the surrounding demons, reluctant to speak. Crowley was not to be trusted, no matter how 'safe' Sam saw him to be, and his demons even less. Noticing Dean's discomfort, Crowley clicked his fingers with a long sigh and his guards vanished. "Now," he said. "We can talk in private."

Dean swallowed, gaze still flickering around, still unsure whether he should reveal this to Crowley. But there was no other way. Or at least, no quicker way. "I'm looking for Cas," he said finally, wetting his lips with a quick flick of his tongue.

"Castiel?" Crowley was genuinely surprised. "I thought he was dead."

"Yeah, so did I," he replied gruffly. "But he's not. And now I'm trying to find him."

"I'm assuming you think he's here," Crowley said as he sat down in the masterfully crafted oaken chair that hid behind the paper-laden desk. Dean approached, dropping his arms to his sides as the demon relaxed.

"And is he?"

"Why should I tell you?" Crowley said, picking up his glass of scotch and taking an extended swig.

"Listen here, you son of a bitch," Dean growled, slamming his hands down onto the desk and leaning in to Crowley's face menacingly. "You're going to tell me where Cas is or I'm going to put this knife through your heart, and then chop you into little pieces and bury each strip a hundred miles apart."

Crowley looked mildly passive. "Good luck with that," he answered mirthlessly.

Demons seized Dean's arms, knocking the knife from his fingers as they dragged him backwards. Dean lashed out against their hold, but to no avail. "Take him downstairs," Crowley ordered, giving dean a smug look. He glared back with repulsive hatred. "Lock him up somewhere unpleasant, and don't let him out."

"Get off me you sons of bitches!" Dean snarled as they began to drag him away, with each step getting closer to the prison cells of Hell. Closer to the darkness that he knew all too well.

"Dean?"

His struggling ceased and he looked up in wonder. "Sam?"

"What're you doing here, Dean?" Sam asked, distraught. "You're not –"

"No, I'm not dead, Sam." Dean could've rolled his eyes. "I'm looking for Cas."

"Cas?" Sam was utterly bewildered. "Dean, Cas is dead. We haven't seen him in months. Not since…"

"He came back," Dean explained. "Not five minutes after you left he burst into the motel room."

"What happened?"

Dean glanced furiously at Crowley. "Oh, go ahead," he said, waving dismissively. "Don't stop on my account."

"Let me go first?" Dean suggested viciously.

With exasperation, Crowley snapped his fingers again. Dean shook himself and straightened his jacket, offended. The expression that he showed Crowley could have frozen beer. The King shifted somewhat in his seat.

"What happened to Cas, Dean?" Sam repeated, drawing Crowley out from under his bitch radar.

"He disappeared," Dean answered, going to pick up the knife from the floor where it had been dropped, but Sam stooped and took it instead, slipping it into his belt. Dean cocked his head slightly in observance. "And he… um… Something took him. He just started flickering and then he was gone."

"Flickering?" Sam became attentive. "Flickering how? Like a spirit?"

Dean jerked. "Um… Yeah, I guess. Like a spirit," he said slowly, frowning. "Sam, are you saying –"

"That Cas is a spirit?" Sam finished. "Yeah, I am. It's a possibility, Dean. A likely one."

"No," Dean refused. "He's not. I saw him, I touched him –"

"Spirits can do that," Sam reminded him.

"He's not dead!" Dean yelled.

"Look, Dean. I know it's not something you want to consider but Cas… He could've chosen to stay behind to look after you, just like Bobby did." Dean shook his head. "Dean!" Sam exclaimed. "Listen to me, dammit! It _is_ possible. The only thing that doesn't fit with that theory is that angels don't have souls. They have Graces. And I don't think Graces can become vengeful spirits, okay? Is that good enough for you?"

Dean hesitated, his face collapsing into an expression of horror. "Cas said," he began slowly. "That he… Wasn't an angel anymore. He said Metatron had taken his Grace and made him… Human." He trembled slightly, his stomach quivering horribly.

There were several moments of absolute silence as the enormity of what Dean had said settled upon his audience. "Wh- What?" Sam finally got out.

"Well of course he's human," Crowley said. "All the other angels are, so what makes you think that Castiel would be any different? Don't be so obtuse."

Sam scowled briefly, then turned his attention back to Dean. "So Cas became human, and then he came back and found you," he said to clarify. "And if he was human then he could either be alive or a spirit, considering that he'd have a soul now."

"He's not a spirit, Sam," Dean said firmly. "Something took him."

"Wasn't me," Crowley declared innocently.

"Shut it, Crowley," Dean snapped disgustedly. "Sam?"

"Yeah, Dean?"

"Are you gonna help me, then?" he asked, almost shyly. He was embarrassed to be asking for Sam back after he'd so effectively let him go last time. "I can't do this without you. Or at least, I don't want to."

Sam looked down at his feet and swayed on them gently. "Maybe not," he said. "But I'm not going on a suicide mission."

"What the Hell do you mean?" Dean roared, stepping up to Sammy with fury.

"I mean that I know you're going to search everywhere for Cas, and you've already been through Earth, Purgatory and Hell. You're going to _kill yourself_ so that you can search Heaven too," Sam replied calmly. "I'm not going with you on that."

"You know what, Sammy?" Dean said, voice cracking with barely contained rage. "Screw you. You'll go to Hell to help out a _demon_ but you won't go to Heaven with your own brother." His voice wavered with disappointment. "What happened, Sam? It used to be you and me, and we'd do anything for each other 'cause we're family. Hell, I'd still do anything for you. But now you're giving Crowley all the purified blood he demands just to tide him over enough so that he won't try to kill us. You gonna let him suck you dry, Sammy? You gonna let him bleed you to death? 'Cause that's what'll happen eventually. He'll get sick of taking what you will give him and start taking what you won't. And when you're cold and dead, he'll just fetch some other sorry son of a bitch to fill your shoes. But maybe you can relate, huh, little brother?"

"Dean, don't –" Sam warned.

"What're you gonna do, Sam?" he shouted at him. "You are putting yet another demon over your family. And this time it's not just me who you're letting down either; it's Cas too. He's part of this family as well. Or don't you remember everything he's done for us? Everything he did for you? How he pulled you out of Lucifer's cage, or how, when you went six kinds of crazy, he took on your madness and let it rot in him until he became some sort of nutty wreck? You remember that, Sam, you bastard? And now you can't even find the decency to do the same for him."

"Dean, I'm sorry. I really am. But I can't just –" Sam pleaded.

"You're sorry?" Dean exploded. "Is that all you've got to say? You're always saying sorry, Sam. How about trying to do something right for once instead of having to apologize all the time?"

Sam backed up, evidently hurt. "Dean, please," he said. "This isn't you."

"Oh, it's me alright," Dean smiled bitterly. "I'm just telling you all the things you don't want to hear."

"Careful, moose," Crowley warned, rising to a stand. Sam nodded, not looking at the demon behind him.

"Oh, yeah," Dean screamed furiously. "Listen to the King of Hell but not to me! What kind of brother are you?"

"Let's go, moose," Crowley said quietly, coming to grab Sam's arm.

"Dean, I am so sorry," Sam said sincerely, and then Crowley caught him and they both vanished, the pitiful puppy-like expression on Sam's face ingraining itself into Dean's brain.

"SAM!" Dean howled out wrathfully. "Get back here you dick! You coward!"

Rage boiled hotly within the Hunter as he gradually focused. _Fine then,_ he thought. _Sam can fuck off with Crowley. I don't need that little bitch. Some family he is._ Dean glanced around for the knife, but remembered that Sam had taken it. He swore at his brother loudly. The middle of Hell was no great place to be with a demon knife, let alone without one.

He drew out his Purgatory weapon instead, and took the corridor through which he had come, though he didn't know the way back. He floundered helplessly for a second before a familiar voice sounded out. "Dean Winchester," it said. "We meet again."

"Tessa?" he said, relieved. "Boy, am I glad to see you."

She raised a casually friendly eyebrow at him. "Need a ride out of here?"

Dean grinned. "Yeah, that'd be great, Tessa. Thanks."

She placed her hand on his shoulder, and he flinched away slightly, as it was on the exact place where Cas had always touched him when transporting. The Reaper did not seem to notice, and with a sharp jerk they were back on Earth. He was dizzy and disorientated, but his head cleared quickly and his eyes adjusted to the now-darkness. "You'd better be more careful, Dean," Tessa said as he blinked his blindness away. "It's not wise to go wandering off into Hell, not even if your brother's chummy with its King."

"I know, Tessa," Dean said tiredly.

"What were you doing down there, anyway?" she queried lightly.

"Castiel," he said. "The angel… He… I was looking for him."

Her face echoed her surprise. "And I thought going to Hell was one of those things only book characters did for one another."

"This is serious," Dean scowled. "He's not… Dead, is he? I mean, you'd know, right? If someone died?"

"Yeah, I would." She folded her arms across her chest. "But not angels or demons or monsters. Only humans."

"He is human now."

"Then no, he's not dead."

Dean's sigh of released tension was full of bliss. "Thank God."

"So where do you think he is?" she poked.

"Heaven," Dean confirmed. "Metatron might've dragged his ass back up there. He has every reason to, I suppose."

"You're going to Heaven to find him?" she inquired incredulously.

"Yeah."

"But to get to Heaven you'd have to –"

"Kill myself?" Dean gave her a look, which was almost laughter. "So what?"

She shuffled in discomfort. "You might not be able to get back, Dean. Only an angel could do that, and there's only Metatron left. I shouldn't think he'd help you out at all."

"I know."

"And what if he's not there?"

"He is there," he said assuredly. "There's nowhere else he _could_ be."

"Alright," she contemplated. "And if you do find him and you do escape from Metatron, what happens then? Considering you won't be able to come back?"

Dean shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans, and stared up at the star-studded sky, breathing in the cool air. "Then I'll be with him. I guess nothing else matters."

"Dean?" Her face crumpled sadly. "You can't just let go. It's not who you are. It's not what you live for."

"I've got nothing left anymore but him," Dean said. "Sam's become a demon's bitch, Bobby's dead, Dad's dead, Lisa and Ben don't know who I am… Cas is all the family I've got now. And if I can be with him in Heaven then that's fine."

"Sam means well, Dean," Tessa reminded him gently. "He's still your brother and he still loves you."

"He's lost every right to that title," he snapped. "After everything he's done, he isn't worthy of shit."

"He needs you, Dean."

"Yeah, well. He doesn't deserve me."

Tessa's words caught in her throat. But her gaze soon became a frown of curiosity. "You're not yourself, Dean," she stated. "There's something… Missing."

"Oh, don't you start," Dean said, running his fingers through his hair.

"Don't I start?" she said, scrutinising him still.

"That's what _Sam_ said," he replied, stressing his little brother's name with malice. "Bastard doesn't have a clue."

"Have a clue about what?" Tessa demanded. "What did they take from you?"

"A piece of my soul, alright?" he responded loudly, raising his arms in exasperation. "I had to, to get into Purgatory."

"Oh, Dean," she said, shaking her dark curls slowly. "Your soul is the most precious thing you have. You can't just hand out chunks of it to any Tom, Dick or Harry who asks."

"I _had _to get to Purgatory," Dean tried to explain. "There was no other way."

"You don't know what they could've done with it. They could be working a spell to kill you or send your ass back to Hell. They could've even sold it on to God knows who. Can you imagine if Crowley or Metatron got hold of it? This is more dangerous than you think."

"I _do _know, Tessa," Dean said softly, not looking her in the eye. "I just didn't care enough."

She sighed quietly, resigned. There was a heaviness of worry and fear resting on her shoulders, but she felt that there was nothing she could do or could have done to stop it. Dean was so resolute. There was no boundary that he would draw when it came to the ones he loved. She placed her cool hand on his forehead and pulled his eyes to hers. "Good luck," she whispered serenely, her kind fingers lingering on his cheek as she moved away and disappeared into the night.

"Thanks, Tessa," he murmured, lips barely moving. Only the still air could hear his words.

Dean exhaled loudly, cracking through the tranquillity with his drive to keep going. He looked around for a clue as to his location, fearing that he was too far into nowhere to move on. But he breathed in relief as he saw the hood of the Impala poking out from the tree-lined dirt road where he'd parked it the day before when he'd met the Reaper. He walked purposefully towards it, content to slide into its backseat. He could do no more without rest. A good, long sleep was what he desperately needed, and Cas, wherever he was, would understand that.

Dean's eyes shut and he was out cold before another breath had breached his body.

Somewhere far away, Castiel was snoring gently.


	7. Chapter 7

_Dean scuffed his shoes as he ran blindly through the Garden, tripping at every root and rock, but he would not slow down. If this was truly a part of Heaven then perhaps it was the best, safest way of finding his missing friend. So he ran to escape the possibility of waking before he succeeded._

_The long grass whipped his calves and shins as he tore through its blades, but Dean was so focused that they may as well have been the strokes of a feather upon his skin._

_But it was not the grass that dean had to avoid; it was the thing that lurked in the grass that he was worried about. That dastardly snake who'd bitten him before and had effectively sent him straight out of the dream last time would surely want him out again once it realized that Dean was there. No time to waste today. Or tonight, Dean supposed. But then here the Sun shone as brightly as the moon did upon Dean's physical form._

_The only limit to his pace was fatigue, and as he ran further and further his strength waned, and he had to stop in favour of a frustrated, fast-paced walk in order to keep going. Weapon-less, he searched for a tool as he strode between the trees. As expected, nothing presented itself. He was tempted to rip a branch off one of the trees, but without a knife or blade of any sort to sharpen it with, it would be as good as useless. You couldn't stab a snake with a blunt stick._

_He proceeded with a certain amount of caution. Nothing close to what it would take to slow his pace, but enough to switch his eyes to a more alert, scanning mode. Still, the grass remained motionless and empty, even as more and more time ticked over. Something was wrong. The viper would know he was there and could've gotten him by now. What was it waiting for? What was it planning?_

_Dean scowled suspiciously, then his steps faltered as he thought: _It's just a dream. Complete made-up nonsense. It's a bloody snake, not a Metatron, biding its time until it can strike deadly. Why am I even thinking about this? Why the Hell am I looking for Cas here? He can't even come into my dreams anymore. It's just a dream.

_Dean tried to convince himself, but he couldn't bring himself to believe it. If there was even the slightest chance that this _could _be real… Dean wasn't going to take any chances. It felt too real to be risked. He had nothing to bet besides Cas' life, and that wasn't something he was willing to play. So this meant he would carry on searching._

_But then, if it was simply a dream, then Dean would be happy enough, because at least he could be with Cas in his dreams. If that was all he was to have until he followed Cas to Heaven, then Dean would take it. Although it wouldn't mean that he'd stop looking. It just meant that he'd let himself stop and sleep more often._

_His pace had become little more than a wander, but he didn't notice. There was something about this part of the Garden that necessitated a leisurely walk rather than a stride. The aura itself calmed Dean's heart until it beat slowly and his mind fogged. It may have been a poppy-coloured poison to ward away intruders, but the sluggishness crawled up through his veins as he meandered closer to the centre._

_And then he saw him. Castiel._

_The fog was gone._

_Everything was sharp._

_He was stood with his back to Dean, gazing up at a tree adorned with simple apples and lush green leaves, with a sprinkling of white blossom amidst the fruits. His coat was clean and creaseless, hanging loosely as it always did down to the backs of his knees. His head was tilted upwards, as though he was admiring the dancing branches of the tree, but even from this distance and at this angle Dean could see the little muscles in his jaw working ever so slightly, and he knew Cas was talking to someone._

_Dean approached as quietly as he was able, hoping to snag a glimpse of the other or a snippet of their conversation. All he caught was a murmur of a voice he didn't recognise, and then Cas turned his head around to see Dean at last._

_Dean's face softened and bliss spread throughout his features as Cas' blue eyes held his own with their tearful joy and relief. He saw Cas' lips mouth his name, and Dean shouted across the distance between them in ecstasy. "Cas!" he yelled. "CAS!" he howled again, bawling out with all his heart in the game, screaming to the last thing that mattered in all of the Universe._

_"DEAN!" The reply was deafening. The exuberant, rejoicing cry._

_Dean's legs couldn't carry him fast enough._

_His eyes jumped open, and Cas was gone._

* * *

"SHIT!" he bellowed, slamming his hands on the wheel. "Shit, shit, SHIT!" His lungs ripped up as he choked on nothing. "Cas," he broke. "Jesus, Cas YOU WERE RIGHT THERE YOU WERE RIGHT THERE YOU… Y–"

He buried his face in his hands, holding back a sob. He felt cheated. And torn. And all of his despair leaked out through his eyes and through his breathless throat that was too tight and raw to inhale. All this time, he had not let it escape its fleshy cage but it had nibbled and nibbled until it finally breached the surface of his skin, because he couldn't heal fast enough now. Now, after he'd seen Cas, he just couldn't keep it buried anymore. The truth of it was that Dean had been forgetting all of those gazes that Cas had bestowed upon him, all of those small, comforting touches and all of those soft words in an angel's tongue. He'd been so scared of losing him forever from all methods of the mind. And so tangible had been their reunion – so close – that Dean had believed, for that second, that it was all over. That Cas would be in his arms once more. But not so.

It was Purgatory all over again. Except this time Cas wasn't even close to within his reach.

Maybe Dean had thought that he would never need someone so much that it would stop his heart and all of his mind to be without them. Sure, he'd do anything for Sam, and he needed his brother, his family, so badly that he'd die to bring him back. But he wouldn't go insane without him, as he feared he might without Cas.

So close. Cas' voice reverberated through Dean's shattered soul, calling out his name over and over and over, reaching out to him. And Dean would reach back, but there was nothing to hold onto. So the voice faded, and with each repetition it changed until it transformed into Dean's own voice, shrieking out his own name to the deserts and the mountains and the lonely long roads. And no matter how many times Dean tried to conjure its sound, Cas' voice was a ghost never to be seen.

Darkness nestled into his breast, spinning its cotton webs around his lungs, dripping off his ribs and dancing in a complex weave of blackness and horror. He let it weave; maybe it would drive him. He's have something to push against rather than having to float aimlessly through space without direction or gravity.

It was time to make preparations.


	8. Chapter 8

Cas' tortured screams bounced off the walls. Again and again he cried for Dean, howling his name as he beat his fists onto the perfectly-plastered, beautiful bars that kept him. He had been _this_ close to freedom, to Dean. He'd thought he'd been saved. But no. No. This was not salvation. This was a cunning black torment.

"Not enjoying your stay, Castiel?" The voice put on a tone of surprise. "Such a shame. I do _enjoy_ watching you. The same way that humans enjoy watching caged animals in zoos pace up and down their pens. The animals, they try so desperately to escape, but they know deep down that they'll never get out. But it really is so much more fun when you give them a window that looks out onto a deep, dark, endless forest. The glass will never break, but they refuse to believe that. So they throw themselves at it again and again. Which really is a _bitch_ for them, but a real delight for all the visitors."

The angel was rigid and as resolute as stone as he turned slowly, threateningly, and he saw the distant smirk of the snake and the glint of the glass that held his scotch that he spun lightly in his fingers.

"You think," Cas growled, hardly containing his wrath from raining down upon the man before him. "That this is _funny?_ This is entertainment for you?"

"We all have our _fetishes_, Castiel," he said absently, not looking at Cas, but instead at the way the light streamed through his scotch. "And mine happens to be cages." He shrugged nonchalantly. "And their contents."

"You sick bastard."

"Perhaps." He winked at Cas then, who bristled. "But I have you all tied up right now, so you can't do anything about it. But I could do… Well, _anything _to you, and you wouldn't be able to stop me."

Cas let out a sharp hiss and his eyes glared with electricity as his true form began to burst through the seams that held him together. It was enough to have been put through agony in his dreams, let alone to be plagued by this sadist in his reality. He'd done enough already. Let him burn in angel fire. Let his body be roasted upon its white flames and scream and writhe with all the pain that it deserved. Hell hath no fury? Well Heaven hath so much more.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you, Castiel," the snake called over the sound of the shattering of glass and the cracking of the walls. "All it'd do is destroy your vessel and you'd still be stuck here with me. If angels could kill me then they would've done it a long time ago."

"I can try," Cas said, his voice a million voices; powerful, majestic. He was an angel again. No powerless human. Nothing could tear him down. No demon, no scribe, and certainly no viper.

"You could try," the snake-man admitted. "But it would do no good."

"You could be lying," Cas thundered, spreading his wings now. And as they spread all of the lights burst and broke, and blue fires erupted in their place.

"I could, yes," the snake replied. "But I could not, also."

"I'm willing to take that chance," Cas said, crackling with volts in his glory.

"You might be," the snake answered, his voice devoid of any anxiety. "But would you risk Dean?"

"What has this got to do with Dean?" Cas demanded, light pouring from his mouth as he spoke.

"Everything!" he cried. "It's all about Dean! You and Dean! Taking your fall together." The viper was cackling like a manic, everything about him shrieking a madness that was frightening and formidable. "Adam and Eve, they fell from Heaven to Earth. I loved watching them, too. Those little darlings, bound by a cage also, but more of a metaphorical cage, of course. Barred from knowledge. And then God gave them free will, and well… I had my fun. It was wonderfully delicious to tempt Eve… She was such a naïve sweetheart. Had no idea what was right and what was wrong. Just knew that God didn't want her eating from that particular tree. I sorted that out.

"And then she, with beautiful knowledge, ran back to Adam and gave him his fruit. She had a hard time convincing him to take it. He'd always been a little stubborn, which is admirable, I suppose, but I didn't see it that way at the time. Just another one of God's loyal soldiers. So I made an arrangement. Well, blackmail, but you get the idea. You see, I'm just a tiny bit poisonous. And Adam loved Eve more than his own being, so I told him I'd kill her if he didn't bite – Excuse the irony.

"And that was when God cast them out of the garden. I never really understood – I mean, who will ever understand God? – But I could never fathom why he a) gave them free will in the first place, b) planted a tree of temptation right in front of them, and c) why he let them both eat the fruit before he cast them out. Like after Eve he just thought 'Fuck it, I'm going to wait until Adam eats it too, and then I'm gonna chuck 'em _both_ out.'

"I mean, _really_. He could've at least let _one_ of your kind stay in Eden, and created another man and woman to live on Earth and in Eden respectively. Could've had a back-up race of humans."

Cas had deflated somewhat as he had been listening, but his eyes still glowed and the palms of his hands still blazed with a warning light. "What has this got to do with Dean?" he asked cuttingly.

"Dean _and _you," he corrected. "Now that's where it gets interesting.

"Let's say… I'm doing an experiment. I know what happens when two humans get expelled from Heaven for misconduct, yes? But what I'd really like to know is what happens to a human when he gets expelled from Earth? Where does he go, what does he suffer? So I wondered. And then I decided to find out. And just because I could, I threw a fallen angel into the mix as a little persuasion."

"Are you saying," Cas asked warily. "That I'm Eve?"

"Precisely!" he exclaimed in happiness. "You, the strong, independent – although admittedly not female – warrior who begs for a taste of the knowledge that might lead her to progress. Wanting of the knowledge that will let her divine how to judge her actions properly. She needs no more persuasion than a few carefully chosen words, for she wants this for herself.

"And then there's Dean, our embodiment of Adam. Although not his _brother _Adam, because he's still stuck in Hell. Eve's Adam. Her soul-mate. He'll do anything for her, no matter what the cost to his own life. He relies upon her to be there for him, to protect him, when he needs it. Soldier boy knows how to follow his father's orders, and he does. Until some greater thing than his God comes along and turns his beliefs to slush, because this thing is more than anything that he could imagine. And this thing is Eve. You."

"Dean doesn't… I'm not –" Cas spluttered, unable to get his words out.

"Oh, but he does," the snake beamed. "And you _are_. You weren't there to hear them all when you were gone. When the Leviathans annihilated your body, you didn't hear his heartbroken _'Okay. So he's gone.' _just after you walked into that lake. Or when Sam said to Bobby _'He's going through the same motions, but he's not the same Dean.' _And – What was it – Ah, yes: _'Ever since Cas, I've had a hard time trusting anybody.'_ Did he not say you were like a brother to him? Bobby called you one of the best friends he ever had. It's so obvious. He _will not _live without you, because every time he's had to he's near enough lost his mind."

Cas wilted at those words. They etched into him thousands of threads of pain like thin wires that wrapped themselves around his heart, squeezing tight like constrictors. This was hurt in a sense that made no sense. It was emotional and raw, and somehow that was more excruciating than every single time that Cas had bled for the Winchesters. They sliced through his muscle as though it was tissue paper, and they rubbed their razing knots through his chest with the hideous screeching of metal through bone. He'd never known just how much his betrayal, his desire to repent – and ultimately his death – had destroyed Dean. Surely he knew it had, but never to what extent. No-one had ever told him, so he'd assumed that it hadn't been so bad. That'd hurt, but not as bad as if he'd thought it'd practically devastated his friend. Apparently it'd been worse than he had ever imagined. Which was worse than anything. Dean could lose him just as much as he could lose Dean: not at all.

"Why are you doing this to us?" Cas whispered, defeated, as his Grace dulled and his eyes became dark and tired once more with the weight of his weariness.

"I told you."

"It didn't seem like a reasonable answer to me. Nor did it answer the question."

"What question?"

"Why _us?_" Cas expressed feverishly. "Why did it have to be Dean?"

"Because only Dean is forbidden from eating from the Tree of Knowledge," the snake explained. "I heard along the grapevine that God forbids any direct descendant of Adam – any vessel of Michael – from eating the fruit. Your Dean's the only one left."

"There is no _grapevine_," Cas glowered. "No-one knows what God wants, and you'd be the last one to find out," he spat.

"I have my sources." He tugged on his sleeve absent-mindedly. "And who knows? I could be closer to God than you've ever gotten, and you've been in the same room as Him."

Cas stopped. "What?" he said, stunned.

The man laughed quietly. "What a thrill it is to see you flounder, Castiel. Don't think for one second that I am going to tell you. I just love watching you squirm."

Cas gritted his teeth and glared with undeniable hatred at the viper he was faced with. "Dean will find me." His voice was darker than an endless cave, and more chilling than the water of an icy river. Even the snake-man could not hold back a small flinch. "And when he does," Cas sneered, advancing upon him. "He will kill you. I don't care if you say you're immortal or that no weapon known to God can hurt you. He will find a way. We will watch you burn. And you can go to Hell, because I'm not taking a single bite of that fruit."


	9. Chapter 9

Dean was stood at the crossroads with a cardboard box sat in the back of his car, which was parked dead centre. Buried in the ground beneath was a small tin containing a handful of dirt from the nearby graveyard, the shin bone of a black cat and other various and assorted items, including one of Dean's many fake IDs. All he had to do was wait.

He hadn't been waiting long when Crowley appeared in front of him. Dean threw the demon a disgusted look which Crowley returned with an innocent expression. "What?" he said, sounding offended. "You wanted me to turn up, didn't you?"

"Not you specifically, but I guess I'll have to put up with you," Dean sneered sweetly.

"Look," said Crowley, trying to appease. "I know we're not exactly on good terms here, but I wanted to see this through personally –"

"No, we're not on good terms right now, are we?" Dean interrupted, and Crowley shut his mouth tight. "But I suppose you're more useful than any of your bitches so I'm not walking away right now."

Crowley cleared his throat nervously. "What can I do for you, Dean?" he asked, uneasy.

"You can do me a favour, that's what," Dean snapped bitterly. "I think you owe me that much, huh, Crowley?"

"Well technically I don't owe you anything so –"

"Oh, shut up," Dean said. "You've already taken my brother away from me. You got my soul once. What, you think every deal has to be sealed with a soul?"

"That's generally how it works, yes," Crowley replied, somewhat stunned.

"Well screw that. I need a favour, Crowley. Or would you rather I go find Sam and tell him you dragged his brother's soul back to Hell? I'm pretty damn sure he wouldn't appreciate that."

"Alright, alright," Crowley said hastily. "No souls. But I've got to get something off you or it wouldn't be a deal."

"How about my gratitude?" Dean threw his hands up. "Is that good enough for you, you arrogant dick?"

Crowley was silent for a minute, then he scratched the back of his neck and said with a sigh: "What can I do for you, Dean?"

Dean swallowed. "I need you to get these to Sammy. The car, everything."

Crowley's eyes widened with realization and horrified shock. "Dean," he said, aghast. "You're not really going to –"

"It's none of your business, Crowley," Dean replied tightly, unable to look at the demon's appalled face. "Just do it, okay?"

"Sam'll try and get you back," Crowley told him. "He'll do anything, you know that."

"What, are you afraid of losing your blood-bank?" Dean scoffed furiously. "I'll tell you what, why don't you look after him for me? Make sure he doesn't kill himself and don't make deals with him. Tell him there's no-one who _can _bring me back except for Metatron, and he won't do it. I mean you could, theoretically, but you won't do it. I know that 'cause you're not trying to stop me now. You want me dead so you can have Sam all to yourself. So Merry fucking Christmas."

"This isn't for the angel, is it?" Crowley inquired delicately. "I mean, the ex-angel really, but…"

"Let's see…" Dean snaked. "… Mind your business. Again."

"He's gone, Dean. And he's not coming back. Might as well give up now, save yourself the pain."

Dean turned his face away as it screwed up in grievous angst. "There will always be pain." His voice was feeble and shaky. "As long as Cas is not here. And if I could die and spend a life with him in Heaven then that's what I'd do. Who cares about my pain when it's torture enough only to see him when I'm dreaming? I'm sick of life if it means to be lonely. I've gotta be happy. And I've never found that here."

Crowley's face had dropped in perturbed astonishment. His mouth hung open slightly and confusion muddled with his raised brows. "Excuse me?" he managed to cough out. Dean didn't reply. "I'm pretty sure I heard a version of that speech somewhere in a romance novel. What in God's name are you trying to say?"

"I'm trying to say that I hate life, if it wasn't obvious!" Dean yelled angrily. "I just want to be happy for once in all of my miserable existence, is that too much to ask? And Cas makes me happy, so I want to be where he is. Everyone else is either dead, gone, or a double-crossing douche! What am I supposed to do, you son of a bitch? So you're gonna take this car to Sam, and you're gonna make sure he looks after it. You know, I wouldn't give it to him, but guess what? There's no-one else to give it to!"

Dean leaned on the Impala, his forehead touching the cool metal as he breathed deeply. Crowley, somewhat concerned, stayed back a few paces. He could hardly comprehend what he was seeing. This was Dean Winchester, hereditary badass and the nightmare of monsters, and he was breaking loose. He was vulnerable and scared. Which made him a man with nothing to lose. And Crowley was witnessing his demise. But as pitiful as it looked, Crowley could not mock him. That was the human inside him talking, with all his pathetic empathy. Since when had Crowley had empathy? And more importantly, empathy for a Winchester? He shook his head disbelievingly.

"How're you going to do it?" he asked quietly.

"What's it to you?" Dean snapped weakly.

"Nothing," he said. "But Sam might want to bury your body."

"Make sure he burns it this time," Dean answered. "I don't want to come back as some creepy-assed zombie."

Crowley nodded, and moved to place his hand on the hood of the Impala, preparing to take off.

"Oh, and Crowley?"

"Yes, Dean?"

"I'll be in Pontiac, Illinois."

* * *

"Oh, I beg to differ, my dear Castiel," the snake said with a wide smile. "I think, when the time comes, you'll take your bite alright."

"What makes you so sure?" Cas' fists clenched.

"Well, it could be that sometime in the near future, you'll have to make a decision that could be either good or bad. And that decision will define you as a person, Castiel, so it must not be taken lightly. But you won't know what's right or wrong if you don't seek the knowledge, so you'll make that one, inevitable mistake that will cost you dearly." The snake beamed. "You see, Castiel? You will eat the fruit, even if you deny it now."

"What decision?" Cas demanded in frustration. "Tell me!"

"Now, now," he said. "Calm down, angel. Getting worked up won't help you in the slightest. In fact, it may even help _me_. You wouldn't want that, now, would you?"

Cas breathed through his teeth, trembling with rage. Slowly, he forced his heart rate to slow, though his loathing still burned like the Sun. "At least," said Cas firmly. "Tell me where I am. If I can't get out of here, then why not tell me where 'here' is?"

The serpent contemplated for a second, and then he spoke. "Righto. If that's what you want." He glanced at Cas' livid features and internally smirked in satisfaction. "You're in a sort of… Parallel bubble of space. I constructed it myself." He sounded proud of himself. "It comes down to touch Earth at this one point I thought you'd like. Lots of sentiment, you know? It's Pontiac, Illinois, in the barn where you met Dean for the first time, and where he first met you."

Cas didn't say anything, but dropped his head so that the serpent couldn't read his face. The snake itself raised one arching eyebrow. "I thought you'd like the poetry," he said. "Ending a story where it started. People do like all those… _Circles_."

"Our story won't end here," Cas said quietly, but with determination. "Yours might, though."

"I wouldn't say so," the man said, pulling down the corners of his mouth and pouting with his bottom lip. "I'd say you've only got an hour before your story comes to its close, and you can't find a way to kill me in that time."

Cas head jerked up. "What?"

"Oh, nothing." The snake waved it off, his eyes shining with joyous malice. "It's just Dean, you see. He's on his way to Pontiac now. He doesn't know we're here, obviously, but apparently he likes his circles just as much as the rest of the human population."

"What do you mean?" asked Cas, panicked.

"It _is _poetic, isn't it?" he admired. "Dean coming to the place where his life began so that he might end it."

"Dean," Cas murmured. "No, Dean. _No_."

"Oh, _YES_!" the snake-man crowed triumphantly. "I mean, this throws a spanner in the works of Plan A, but this makes for an excellent Plan B."

"Plan B?"

"Yes, Castiel," he smiled, raising his palms so that they faced upwards, tilting his head back as though he was receiving deliverance from God himself. "You want to stop Dean from killing himself, don't you? So you've got to get out of this cage of yours. But the only way you're getting out is if I _let _you out, and I'll only do that if you eat your apple like a good little girl. Isn't that fair? Then we both get what we want."

"It's a sin," Cas whispered. "God will reject me. He'll –"

"Haven't you already fallen, Castiel? What more could God do to you?"

"He could do anything he wanted to me!" Cas shouted in his face. "You don't know what he'd do because that's what you want to know."

"True," he confessed. "But would you rather sacrifice Dean than find out?"

Cas crumpled to his knees, clutching his head and moaning prayers to a God who had never replied. He didn't know what to do, so he prayed. He didn't know what was right anymore. His mind spun in patterns that were no longer cohesive.

The snake looked down in disappointment at his pet, sighed, and thought: _This is going to be one long hour._


	10. Chapter 10

It was morning light when Dean reached Pontiac. He'd been driving for the past day-and-a-half, and he was exhausted. _Better to be exhausted_, he thought. _Makes it so much easier to let go_.

As he drove closer to his final destination, he thought about what he wanted to do before he left. So when a diner appeared on the left hand side of the road, Dean pulled into the lot without a second thought. The dirty black Jeep that he'd stolen fit in well amongst the other cars, and he was once again glad that it had been available for theft.

The door jangled a cheery bell as he entered into the diner with all its red-cushioned chairs and wooden bay seats. The bar itself seated four, and two of those were already filled by a couple of burly-looking biker types. Dean missed one seat between them and him and came to sit by the wall. He signalled the bartender with a small wave and a smile. The bikers chugged their beers cheerily.

"Hey there, son," the gruff bartender said, smiling at Dean. "What can I get you?"

_That's a good question,_ Dean thought. _What do I want for my last meal? _"Erm… Can we start off with a Corona del Sol, then… Umm… A bacon cheeseburger with fries, and a side of… Err… Onion rings?... Yeah."

"Okeydokey," he said, writing it down on his notepad. "Is that everything?"

"Yeah, yeah," Dean replied. "Wait – Do you have any pie?"

"Sure, kid," he said. "Apple and… Blackberry, I think. Is that good?"

"Yeah, that's great, thanks."

"I'll be right out with your burger, and here's your beer." The bartender left and went into the kitchen. Dean could hear his muffled commands through the door as it swung on its hinges. Dean smiled sadly, and took a swig from the bottle, trying not to think for a little while.

"Hey, mate!" one of the two bikers yelled drunkenly. "Bit early to be having a drink, ain't it?"

"Sure." Dean smiled briefly, but inside he was rolling his eyes. Couldn't these idiots leave him alone? All he was asking for was five minutes of peace. _Give me a break, God. I think I've earned one y now._

He turned back away from him. They threw one of their burnt-out cigarettes at him. "Hey! We're talking to you!" the second practically giggled.

Dean sent out a small prayer for patience, but it must have got lost in God's mailbox because any help came way too late. "Yeah," he said. "But you're not meant to be smoking in here, so I figure I'll ignore you until you stop. Or go outside. Either will do."

"You wanna go outside, you little dick?" the first demanded angrily, drawing himself up to his full height.

"I wouldn't mind it," said Dean, an edge of cockiness hardening his tone. "But unfortunately for you I don't smoke, and I've got this rather attractive piece of pie coming my way in a sec, so I'd rather wait here."

The diner went suddenly silent. Every pair of eyes was on the first biker, who had turned a stunning shade of red; a mixture of rage and embarrassment. Dean winked.

The man erupted in a great mass of plaid, denim and beard. He let out a tremendous, wordless bellow so loud that a small girl sat by the window clapped her hands over her ears and screamed. Biker #1 grabbed a grinning Dean by his jacket and threw him bodily across the room. Dean hit his head with a crack on the diner's door, and blinked a couple of times before the great, bear-like man got hold of him again and pulled him to his feet. A heavy punch fell upon Dean's nose, breaking it cleanly.

"Jesus!" Dean heard the bartender yell. "Get off him! What the Hell did he ever do to you? Let him go, and get out of here!"

Unfortunately Biker #1 was one of those ignorant douchebags who feel that they have no authoritative figures, and so he paid no attention to the flustered bartender, and instead chose to slam his fist repeatedly into Dean's bloodied face over and over again.

Dean was nearly unconscious when he felt himself fall to the ground and land in a small puddle of his own blood. Vaguely he caught the words: "Enough now, mate… No… You'll kill him, man…" which Dean assumed to be Biker #2. He would have thanked him, but he was too busy coughing up blood and saliva, so he and his friend had gone by the time Dean was able to speak.

"You alright, son?" the bartender asked worriedly as he held up the limp Dean with one arm around his waist.

"Yeah," Dean coughed once more, his eyes watering.

"That was a load of bull, I'm sorry," he said hotly. "Knew I shouldn't have let them drink here."

"How much did you give 'em?" Dean asked, testing his jaw and clicking his nose back into place with a wince.

"Four lagers each, must've been," he said, shaking his head.

"Huh," Dean smirked. "Lightweights."

"Alright, son. You rest yourself over there. Food's on me, don't worry about it."

"Cheers, man," Dean grunted as he slid onto one of the wooden benches by the window. He picked up a napkin, shook it out and started to dab the blood off his face as he waited, looking at his reflection in the glass as he did so.

"Here ya go," the bartender said merrily as he came back, his arms and hands laden with plates. "Your burger… Onion rings… Another beer… Aaand your pie."

"Thanks, looks great," Dean said, and he picked up his burger from the plate, tucking in immediately. He savoured every bite.

When he had all but licked his pie-plate clean, Dean stood to leave. He bid his goodbyes to the bartender for being so hospitable. "You're awesome," he'd said. Probably the last time he'd use that word. The door jingled gaily as he walked out, but there was a specific downtrodden mood that hung about the Hunter that made even that joyful little bell sound sad. Bruised, and with blood on his shirt, Dean returned to his car. He looked like he'd just finished a hunt. And he liked that. It was how Sam would find his body.

He fired up the engine, and revelled in the fact that it would probably be its last roar. Although he sorely missed the homely growl of the Impala, and regretted its gifting to Sam. But it was either that or Baby rusted forever outside that barn where it had all begun. He reversed out of the lot as quickly as he could, pushing his driving skills. What did it matter if he crashed now? Even so, he didn't want to die in some crappy car in some stupid accident. He had a plan, and it was time to carry it out.

The drive to the barn was short, almost too short. But when he was there, Dean was no longer afraid of dying, as he always had been. This was like a refuge. The place where, for the first time, he'd laid eyes upon Cas. What was that thing he'd heard? _The first time I set my eyes on you I knew you were something different. The last time I set my eyes on you I knew I was going to lose you. _It seemed to fit the situation rather too perfectly. And it was beautiful, not scary.

The great wooden doors reared in front of him, and in his mind's eye they shook in the gales of that night's storm, and they burst open under the power of an angel's hand. He pulled them open himself, and the countless pentacles and spell circles greeted him with their familiar patterns. He felt his hand there, brushing over the lines, shaking his can of paint as he went. The two tables were still there too, although they were cleared of weapons, of course. He saw the place where Bobby had lain sleeping on the floor, as put there by Cas. The shattered lights flashed and crackled in his memory as he took his first step in.

It was déjà vu in all of its glory. Flashbacks smashed into Dean's mind, and he was bashed around with nostalgia and longing and pangs of desertion, for there was no Bobby here, and no Cas either. They were both up in Heaven somewhere, soon to be joined by another lonesome spirit. As much as Dean didn't _want_ to die, he knew it was the only way to get to Cas. Besides, this would be over. All of it would be over and he wouldn't have to worry about anything anymore. The benefits of suicide were surely in his mind, but still tugged his instinct to live.

He reached the middle of the barn, and stood between the two tables, where he had been stood when Cas had walked in through the door, and where he had spoken to his angel from. He pulled his gun out of the waistband of his jeans and dropped to his knees, looking up at where he envisaged Cas' blue eyes to be. And then he didn't feel so alone.

It was like he was there. Right there. Watching over him, as Dean knew he always had. It was as though Cas' soul was touching his own through a thin veil of space, never to be pierced or prodded. _"Cas," _he whispered, uttering his name in bliss. And even though he knew that it was all in his head, he was happy to revel in its atmosphere at the end of his time. Even though there was still so much doubt that he would ever find Cas, Dean wasn't turning back now. This feeling of Cas, however imaginary, was reaching out to him, and Dean reaching back. It was like being close to him again. So what if Cas might not be there? Dean's Heaven was somewhat limited to memories of his mom and of those times when he and Sammy were happy. What were the chances of Cas appearing, and if so, would it just be a memory? But would it be so bad if it was?

_As long as he's there, _Dean thought. _As long as he's there, everything'll be fine._

And as the barrel of his gun pressed its cold metal into the soft flesh beneath his chin, he imagined he felt the light touch of dark wings wrapping around him in an eternal embrace.

* * *

"Stop him!" Cas begged on his knees. "Please, I'll do anything. But just _stop it."_

"Sorry," the snake shrugged. "Too late."


	11. Chapter 11

"Dean."

He opened his eyes and raised his head from where it had hung in its own shame. "Death," he said, blinking heavily. "Have you come for me now?" His voice was small and it held none of the resilience that had become as much as a part of Dean over the years as his fading leather jacket, rubber-soled boots and ripped jeans.

"Oh, Dean," Death said softly. "It wasn't your time."

"I have to be with Cas," Dean mumbled, climbing clumsily to his feet.

"But this? Dean, there are better ways." Death became suddenly saddened. "You didn't have to die. You could've had so much life."

"It's not life when there's nothing left to live for."

Death closed his tired eyes. "So you chose to die. You didn't even try to look for something else to hold on to. Why?"

"Cas is in Heaven, somewhere," Dean explained. "I need him. I had to… I have to…"

"I see. I forget sometimes that you're just the same as the rest of humanity. Are you... Ready to go?" Death asked, and then his ancient façade cracked and shattered into a thousand bitter pieces. His face – his true face – showed all of what he really felt for humanity and life itself. There was compassion there, and empathy, mixed with pity and admiration, but mostly love. Some kind of deep-seated, raw love nestled within Death's breast for all things and how they chose to spend their scantily portioned time. Dean gazed upon him with more understanding than anyone or anything ever had before. Not even God could have known Death this way, although God probably knew these emotions for himself. The weakness lasted only a moment before the mask was healed, and Death could move again. It must have been crippling, the weight of all those souls of the people he had taken. He had watched the light fade from all of their eyes, and Dean knew that no matter how many deaths a person saw, they would never get over a single one, or care less for any life than the others. And Death had seen all deaths. Dean couldn't imagine it.

"Yeah," Dean said. "I'm ready."

Death placed a long-fingered hand on his shoulder.

* * *

Cas held the viper against the wall by his throat, just high enough so that his feet scraped the skirting board for a hold, meaning that, to the angel's satisfaction, he was choking, but _slowly._ "I told you to stop it," he spat in the dangling man's face. "I said I'd do it. WHY DIDN'T YOU STOP IT?"

"You were… Too late… Nothing I cou- could've done," he gasped between suffocated coughs. "You just didn't say 'yes' quick enough."

"LIAR!" Cas screamed. "You could've stopped him if you'd wanted to. But you didn't want to, did you? You want to see us both finished."

"Maybe," he wheezed. "But I might inform you that… What you're doing right now… Is _completely_ pointless. You know you can't kill me… And this is just slightly… Uncomfortable. So if you could just… Put me down… That'd be great."

"I'll put you down when I feel like it," Cas snarled. His fury was the only thing from keeping him from breaking down into uncontrollable sobs. He wouldn't give this vile creature the satisfaction of watching him weep.

"Okay," the snake replied, panting. "No rush."

Neither moved for a minute, then Cas threw the snake to the floor by the neck, his inhuman strength embedding the man into the wooden boards of the floor, causing splinters to fly up everywhere. Cas turned his back and walked away, smiling inside as the snake spat out red blood and coughed viciously. A moment of power had been all that Cas had needed, as it boosted his confidence once again, and he felt ready for whatever he had to do. He could hurt his captor if he gave him the chance. And so he would.

He heard the man find his feet, but Cas didn't face him again. He wasn't going to say another word to that sick bastard. He wasn't worth Cas' time anymore. Because he had some heavy planning to do if he was going to get himself out and back home, to Heaven. There were so many factors to consider. The snake was just the first step. He was going to need some time.

Cas turned back around, and the blue-eyed man had gone, a single white feather in his place.


	12. Chapter 12

The asphalt road wound long into the distance. It was late afternoon, and Dean's hands were resting tranquilly on his chest, his eyes closed, head leaning back. His state of mind was that peaceful, drowsy feeling that came after just having woken up. The smell of the old leather seats clogged his nostrils with its pleasant aroma, and Dean opened his eyes to find himself in the Impala sat next to Sam, who was driving.

"Hello, sleepy," Sam grinned.

Dean blinked. His brother looked so young. His hair was shorter, like it had been when he'd picked him up from Stanford all those years ago. He was bruise-less, scar-less, and smiling, his eyes filled with the light of an innocent child. Dean remembered this. Just one of the many times that Dean had let Sam drive so that he could sleep after working a case at night. Any one of these countless occasions could've popped up, as they all made him almost unbearably happy. The longing he had for the simpler times, before all the angel crap, before Sam had gone psychic crazy, was overwhelming.

So there he sat, groggily staring at the Sam who had the smile, and wondering what the Hell was going on. And then he recalled exactly what he had done.

_I'm dead,_ he thought. _I'm in Heaven. Again._

"Hey, Dean," Sam grinned. "You alright?"

"Yeah, Sammy. I'm okay," Dean replied, his words exactly the same now as they had been then. "Can I drive?"

"Sure." The car pulled over at the side of the road, and Sam got out. Dean opened the car door, and stepped out, and rather than landing on his feet, he fell on his face, pressed into the grass.

"Hey!" he snuffled into the dirt, pushing himself onto his knees. "What the Hell?"

Bobby was laughing and smiling with Sam at his side. Both were bent over and tears were streaming down their faces with mirth. Dean scowled at their antics, but inside he was beaming. He remembered this well. His dad had taken a job not too far from Bobby's place, so he'd dropped the fifteen year-old Dean and eleven year-old Sammy off at the old man's place. Bobby had insisted, like he always did, that he would take them to the park rather than focusing their efforts on gun practise or hand-to-hand combat. It was something that Dean had often appreciated in his childhood, a small escape from whatever life he was living as a Hunter. A chance to be a proper kid. To have that chance given to him by Bobby, just as he had given that chance to Sam as often as he could, was a gift like no other.

"That's not funny, Bobby!" he yelled, his face slowly breaking out into a grin. Their howling increased. "I'm serious!" Dean rubbed his ribs where they had hit the ground painfully.

"I can't believe you fell for it!" Sam shrieked gleefully. "How dumb are you?"

"Shut it," Dean replied grouchily as he got to his feet, and strode over to his brother and the man who was like a father to them both.

They kept laughing as Dean walked by himself back to Bobby's house, and through the open door, where he left a small trail of sulphur, just to shake things up. He smirked. This was how he'd gotten them back. By pretending that a demon had taken him. He'd hidden all day behind a secret panel in the wall of the spare room until they'd gotten back, somewhere that Bobby would never check because he hadn't been aware that Dean had known of its existence. They'd gotten to the point of calling John before Dean had crawled out, cheerily waving his arms above his head, shouting "Got you!" as he ran down the stairs. He would _never_ forget the look on Bobby's face.

He headed upstairs now, bouncing slightly as he went with the excitement and joy he felt at his ability to trick them and cause them as much grief as they'd caused him. He'd never do such a thing with his real father, but Bobby was different. He opened the door the spare room, tripped (as he had done before) on the loose carpet and stumbled straight into his mother's arms.

"Shh… Shh…" she murmured into his ear. "It's okay. It's not your fault, angel. Understand?"

She was a part of a memory, a very vivid, beautiful memory, where his mother had been the one to comfort her son, for a change, instead of the other way around. Dean had been yelled at by his father for breaking a vase he'd bought for Mary for her birthday, and John had stormed out. This was an hour after the fateful event, and little Dean had still been crying even then.

"Cas," he whispered, breaking through the wall of memory and reality. "I could've done something. I could've got hold of Cas before he vanished. And Sam. If I hadn't been so controlling then he wouldn't have left me. If I'd have just let him go he wouldn't have betrayed me, he would've come back. I don't know what to do, Mom," he sobbed, tears seeping into Mary's shoulder as she rubbed his back soothingly. "_I _started the Apocalypse. _I _let my whole family down. I let you down…"

"No, you didn't," she said into his collarbone. "Believe me when I tell you there's nothing you could have done. Other people make their own decisions, and you're not responsible for any of them. All you can do now is get them back, yes? That's what you're here for?"

Dean nodded. He knew that these weren't his mother's words. It was the voice of logic in his own mind that was speaking through her mouth. But he needed it to be her who said it out loud. He would never have believed that voice otherwise. So he hugged her tight, and then let her go. "Yeah, I am," he said, brushing his fingers along her cheekbone. "Bye, Mom."

Then he strode out of the kitchen door without looking back.

He was walking through a long corridor, a hospital, he presumed. Somewhere he recognised… Somewhere he'd been in the light of late afternoon and breaking dawn alike. His steps were echoed by another who had fallen into step beside him, but Dean didn't look at whoever it was. It was probably Sam, anyway. He usually came to places like this with Sam, when they were on a case. He was unexpectedly compelled to suddenly stop outside one of the many wooden doors along the corridor, and he peered into the room through the small window at the side, where the metallic shutters were open.

Within the room was a wheelchair-bound figure with a shaven head and dark skin. He gazed off seemingly into the distance beyond the window to the outside, but Dean could tell that this man wasn't watching any world. His mind was gone completely. It looked as though he hadn't moved in days.

"So this is what I'm looking at if Michael jumps my bones?" Dean said softly, surprising himself.

"No, not at all." Dean snapped out of his watchful reverie, and looked to his immediate left, startled and gladly disbelieving. "Michael is much more powerful. It'll be far worse for you," Cas said, turning his head to catch Dean's eyes.

Dean stared back with wide eyes and slightly parted lips. "Cas?" he whispered. Then he let out a sigh that held all variations of relief and grief, mixed with the ecstasy reserved only for men in Heaven. So disregarded the plot of this scene entirely, and he hugged him, gripping and pulling at every fold in the angel's coat. And he kept hugging him, even though this Cas was couldn't say anything or respond in any way, as he was still locked in the memory.

Something deep inside him was telling him that he could stop now; that he could stop looking, stop searching, stop striving and he could just waste away in this paradise, following Cas around this day forever with divine peace in his breast. This feeling was so powerful and so tempting that he almost lost to it. Almost. But it wasn't enough to just find a footprint of his friend. Dean had to find the real Castiel, wherever he was, because he was still in trouble and was still waiting for someone to save him. There was no other 'someone' who could do it, so Dean had to pull himself from the embrace, despite how much it hurt to let him go. And then Cas was walking away, as though Dean's soul was beside him, oblivious to the fact that instead Dean was watching his back fading away as he walked further up the corridor. "I'm coming, Cas," Dean muttered, pushing open the store cupboard door opposite, and stepping through the veil.

This wasn't his Heaven. Dean knew it straight away. Somehow he'd travelled into someone else's picture of bliss, and he had no idea whose. It might have been Sam's, as they sometimes shared their memories when they were here, but there was nothing to indicate such a thing. This was more like… Well, Purgatory. Just a woody, plain setting.

_A woody, plain setting with a tree-house_, Dean corrected himself as he spotted the wooden structure up in the branches of the large oak closest to him. He walked up to it curiously, and wandered round the trunk of the tree to the rope ladder that led upwards. He placed his hand on one of the rungs, but he didn't climb. Anyone could be up there, doing God knows what.

"Is anyone up there?" he decided to shout instead, not expecting a reply. He didn't get one.

With a shake of his head and a scratch of the back of his neck, Dean turned to leave. And then he stopped in his tracks.

Ellen stood there, apparently just as frozen as he was. She stared at him like he was a ghost, which was true in some part. She tried to get her vocal cords to work, but with no success, judging by the way her mouth moved whilst no sound came out, it was in vain. In her left hand she carried a shining bucket of sloshing water that had wet her shoes on the way, and she dropped it now to the ground where it spilt everywhere.

She body slammed into Dean, crushing his ribs in her iron grip as she squeezed. "Ellen," he gasped. "Ellen, can't breathe."

She let him go apologetically, and cupped his face, ruffling his hair fondly as she moved her hand down to his cheek. He smiled at her astounded, glorified incredulity. "I can't believe it," she said. "Dean."

"Hi, Ellen," he replied.

"Are you dead too, honey?" she asked, a little sadly.

"Yeah," Dean confessed, although she already knew that. "But I'm okay, really."

"How'd you…" She trailed off, holding onto his upper arm on each side as though to make sure he didn't go away.

Dean laughed ashamedly, looking at his shoes then back at her concerned, motherly, _wonderful_ face. He was so reluctant to let her down. "I, erm… It was suicide," he said, watching the light fade from her eyes through his own, which were filmed with tears of guilt. "I couldn't do it anymore, Ellen. I'm sorry."

She nodded, trying to stay strong. "Okay," she said weakly. "That's okay." And she burst into sobs.

Dean pulled her in so that her tears fell onto his shoulder, but she tugged herself back, wiping her eyes quickly. "It's fine, Dean. It's just… Whatever happened to you to make you feel… It must've been awful," she sniffed.

"Yeah, well," Dean said. "I'm here now, aren't I?"

"There's a point," Ellen said as she gathered herself together. "How are you in my Heaven?"

"I dunno," Dean replied. "Last time I was here Ash took me and Sam to his Heaven – the Roadhouse – so I must've done whatever he did then…"

"Oh, right," Ellen laughed. "Last time you were here. Do I want to know how many times you've died?"

"No, not really."

"So, Ash," Ellen said. "He found a way to get into other people's Heavens?"

"He rescued me and Sam from Zachariah. All we need to do is find Ash, then maybe we can get somewhere," Dean planned.

"Or you could just do whatever you did to get yourself here, but instead go to Ash's place rather than somewhere else in my Heaven."

"I don't know what I did," he said. "I just went through a door and ended up here. I didn't concentrate or do anything different."

Ellen thought for a moment. "Would it help to have something of Ash's? I've got his old ring. I found it in the Roadhouse after it'd been burned down. Was the only thing left in the place." She brought it out from the pocket of her jacket, and handed it to Dean, who held it in a fist.

"Okay," he said. "So now we just need a door."

"That's easy," Ellen said, and then she stepped around Dean and began to climb the flimsy ladder up to the tree-house. Dean followed her, and they were soon at the top, stood on the platform outside the door where the doormat read "Welcome Home".

"Shall we?" Dean asked, offering his arm to Ellen. She took it, then he opened the door and they skipped over the threshold, hoping blindly for deliverance.

The Roadhouse's familiar setting evolved around them, and Ash sprung out of his seat at their sudden appearance, nearly smashing all the bottles of whiskey on the shelves behind him in his haste to greet them.

"Dean! Ellen!" he cried. "What're you both doing here? I thought you were off closing the gates of Hell; what happened? I can't even get angel radio nowadays. It's completely silent."

Ellen looked confusedly at Dean. "Closing the gates of Hell?"

"Me and Sam, we –" Dean began.

"Wait!" Ash silenced him. "Who else is dead? They're gonna want to hear this."

Dean scoffed mirthlessly. "Who's dead? Everyone's dead, Ash. Everyone but Sam, now."

"Bobby?" Ellen said, aghast. "Bobby's dead?"

"It was the Leviathan –"

"Didn't I say "wait"?" Ash scowled. "Alright. So I've gotta get Bobby, and then Pamela'll want to be in on this… Who else?"

"Jo," whispered Ellen.

"Jo, too, huh?" Ash shook his head. "Cruel world out there, my friends."

"We know," Dean sighed.

Ash readied himself to leave, then paused. "Hey, Dean. I could find your parents too, you know. Bring 'em here, if you want."

Dean's stomach clenched. _Mom, _he thought instantly. But then he stopped himself and shook his head. "No, Ash," he concluded. "They're better off where they are. I don't want to drag them back into this."

"And you don't want them to know you're dead," Ash continued.

"Something like that," Dean replied quietly.

Ash nodded once with determination. "Give me a few minutes and they'll be here. I'll get Pamela first. She's been dying to see you again, Winchester." And then he skipped merrily out of the nearest door.

Ellen touched Dean's elbow. "You alright?" She asked.

"Yeah, why wouldn't I be?"

"I would've thought you'd have wanted to see your daddy again," she said softly. "It was hard for you when he wasn't there."

"It was harder when he _was_ there," Dean replied. "Always giving orders, bossing Sam around. It's been what, seven years since I last saw him? I don't need him anymore, Ellen."

"Okay," she said. "Well I'm just going to… Wait for Jo." Her voice cracked as she said her daughter's name, then she went and sat down at the bar, pouring herself a glass of whiskey from the bottle that was sat on the counter.

Ash arrived back with Pamela not thirty seconds after, and she went over to hug Ellen instantly, and then she turned towards Dean, who raised one hand in a dead wave. She gave him the most dazzling smile. "Dean," she beamed. "Good to see you again." She winked.

"You too, Pamela," he replied, but he didn't greet her properly. Pamela gave Ellen a look of pleasantly surprised confusion before settling down on the stool next to her and commencing a conversation. Dean didn't look at her again, and barely got a glance of Ash before he disappeared off through another door.

The person who returned that time with Ash barely had a moment to breathe before she was ambushed by a distraught, hysterical, sobbing Ellen. There was no coherence to the words that passed through her choked lips, nor to those that passed Jo's. They clung to each other, sorry and relieved and lost in their reunion. Dean had never seen either person so happy. It was such a great improvement upon their depressive agony in which they had left each other on Earth. This was what Heaven was supposed to look like. It wasn't meant to be some web of separate worlds, it was meant to have happiness and glory beyond all human comprehension, which was what Dean saw before him now. It should be a place where everyone could be together, not just soul mates or other special cases. Which was why Ash's Heaven, the Roadhouse, was the only true paradise.

No-one spoke to Ellen or Jo for a long while, as the two were talking to each other in low undertones and whispers, with tight hugs interrupting every other sentence. Although Jo did send a sad smile Dean's way, saying that although she was sorry that he was dead, at least he was in Heaven with them now.

"Dean? Is that really you?" said a gruff, incredulous voice. The gruff, incredulous voice of a specific old Hunter who Dean loved like family.

"Bobby?" Dean spun around to see him there, dressed as usual in his plaid and denim with his baseball cap on his head. "Bobby!"

The two found themselves in an embrace, and Bobby's eyes watered. "What are you doing here, son?" he asked, his voice rough. "I thought I told you not to come here too soon." His breaths shook.

"I'm sorry, Bobby," Dean muttered. "It's just…"

"One more stupid accident? Yeah, I get it."

Dean squeezed his eyes closed, pulling out of the hug. "Not exactly."

"What d'you mean?" Bobby demanded.

"Alright, alright!" Ash shouted over the commotion that the assembly had caused. "Everyone's here now, so Dean, you can tell us what's been going on now. Dean." He stepped aside and sat down, motioning for everyone else to do so. Dean looked nervously at the well-loved faces surrounding him.

"Okay," Dean said. "I'll start from the point where me and Sam came up here last time, so everyone knows what's been going on up to then, 'cause we told Ash and Pamela everything that had been happening then, and Bobby, you were still alive; Ellen and Jo, you weren't. Because… Erm… We went to find Lucifer then Ellen and Jo died to give us a chance at shooting him in the head, but that didn't work. The Colt couldn't kill him." He turned to the mother and daughter. "You died for nothing," he said. "I'm sorry."

"No, we didn't," Ellen said. "We found one way that wouldn't work. Imagine if you'd have gone after the Devil later on and then died? No, Dean. It wasn't for nothing."

Dean nodded, swallowing. "So then Sam and I found the keys to unlocking Lucifer's cage so that we could throw him back in. And we did. But first Sam had to say yes to Lucifer, so that he could jump into the Pit, taking Lucifer with him. Sam… Got trapped in the cage, and he took the archangel Michael with him, who was possessing our brother Adam. Cas and Bobby both died to get me some more time, but then God brought Cas back and Cas brought Bobby back."

Dean licked his lips. It was hard to talk about this, and even talking about it factually, including only major events, was difficult. His audience waited patiently for him to continue.

"I spent a year living with Lisa and Ben. Then one day Sam turned up, but he wasn't the same. His soul was still in Hell, being tortured by Michael and Lucifer. So we had to get Sam's soul back, but Cas wasn't helping us. He was working with Crowley to find Purgatory, where all the monsters go when they die. Cas was in the middle of a civil war with Raphael in Heaven, so he needed to get souls to use as a power source. Purgatory's souls. We got Sam's soul back, but then he went nine kinds of crazy 'cause Cas broke the wall that Death put up between him and the memories of the cage. He betrayed us. And then when he got the souls from Purgatory, he became some kind of God. Not a God exactly, but he was powerful. But he didn't just bring souls out of Purgatory. He brought these things called Leviathans, and when he finally sent the souls back to Purgatory the Leviathans stayed on Earth and tried to eat the world, basically. Cas… Died when the Leviathans took over his body. Then their boss, Dick, killed Bobby. Cas came back again, but he didn't know who he was until Meg and I told him. Then he diverted Sam's insanity onto himself, leaving Sam okay, but Cas was near useless. We killed Dick eventually, me and Cas, and got sent to Purgatory as a result. One year later we got out, then Sam and I tried to close the Gates of Hell and Cas tried to close up Heaven. Instead he managed to become human and sent every angel out of Heaven except for Metatron, the evil prick who cast the spell to make it happen."

There was a minute of absolute silence.

"Well that's a whole load of crazy that doesn't make any sense," said Pamela dryly.

"Yeah, I know," Dean replied sourly.

"So angel radio hasn't been on because your angel Castiel got rid of all the angels?" Ash clarified.

"Yes, exactly," Dean said. "But he didn't do it on purpose. He thought he was just shutting up Heaven as well as Hell. But Metatron lied to him."

"Right," said Bobby slowly. "So where's Cas now? You said only Sam was still alive."

Dean sighed. "That's the thing. I don't know whether Cas is alive or not, because when he found me a couple of weeks ago he got taken by something. I've been looking for him ever since. I checked Purgatory, Hell, Earth, but… Nothing."

"What about Sam? Where's he been?" Ellen interjected.

"Sam, right now, is playing Crowley's bitch," Dean said tightly. "He's giving Crowley regular doses of his blood to keep him nice. When we were closing the Gates of Hell, the last trial was to cure a demon, and Sam nearly cured Crowley. He didn't though, so Crowley went son of a bitch again, but now he wants to stay at some level of humanity. Sam's spending a lot of time in Hell nowadays."

"What?" Bobby said. "So Sam's putting himself in danger for Crowley's benefit?"

"Exactly. He walked out on me. The only good thing he's done since was when he stopped Crowley from killing me when I visited the Underworld."

"Dammit, Sam," Bobby cursed under his breath. "So what're you doing up here, Dean? If you didn't get killed in Hell then what got you?"

Dean looked Bobby straight in the eyes, apologizing even with his expression. "Nothing got me, Bobby," he admitted. "I… I did this to myself."

"YOU KILLED YOURSELF?" Bobby exploded, yelling at the top of his lungs. "You _stupid_ son of a bitch! What the Hell did you do that for?"

"I can explain, Bobby, please –"

"Shut up, ya idjit! After all we did for you, after all _I_ did, and you go and kill yourself? Do you know how selfish that is? If you weren't already dead, boy, I'd kill you right now!"

Dean backed away from the furious Bobby. Everyone else looked on in trepidation, none brave enough to even try to intervene. "Bobby, please. I had to do it. For Cas."

"Cas?" Bobby shook with rage. "What's this got to do with Cas?"

"I said I was trying to find him. And I searched everywhere," Dean told him. "But I hadn't looked in Heaven. Cas is here, somewhere. I just don't know where. I need to find him."

"You killed yourself to look for Cas?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"What do you mean, 'why'?"

Bobby shook his head, bemused. "Well maybe because you've never done it before. Maybe because every time that Cas has died or vanished you never tried to look for him. I know he's human now but, son… How could you leave Sam without you?"

"Sam doesn't care about me anymore," Dean snapped. "He left me for yet another demon, and all he can say is 'sorry'. I can't forgive him this time, Bobby. And you were dead, and Ellen and Jo, and Lisa and Ben were long gone… I didn't have anyone left except for Cas. Then he was taken. So I decided that I had nothing left to lose, and I went after him."

Bobby's face crumpled up in understanding and pity, but there was still a niggling at the back of his brain. "That can't be it, Dean. I know he's your best friend, but –"

"What are you trying to say, Bobby?" Dean snarled, at the end of his tether. "Spit it out."

"I'm saying that maybe you feel differently about Cas than what you say you do!" Bobby said in exasperation. "I'm saying that you're acting like you're in love with him." Bobby looked away as the room fell silent.

"In love with him," Dean repeated slowly. "You think I'm in love with Cas."

"Yeah, I do," the old Hunter confirmed in a quiet but firm voice. "I've been thinking it since the first time you said a word about that angel."

Dean could barely move. "I was telling you whatever happened when he knocked you out, not writing damned poetry!" he exclaimed indignantly.

"You talked about him like he was some miracle. I've seen you two together, how you act around each other. I remember when he came to the hospital for your necklace – that was when I really met him, wasn't it? He didn't disappoint me then, and neither did you. When we were prepping to go hunt Lucifer with the Colt, when the angels brought Adam back from the dead and you all camped out at my place, when our nearly powerless Cas helped us defeat the angels at the cemetery in Lawrence, I saw all of those looks you gave him, and the ones he gave you. I was there." Dean said nothing. "Look," Bobby continued. "I saw what you were like when the Leviathans killed Cas. I watched you every day and I saw how broken you were. And when he was working with Crowley, you tried so hard to believe in him. Seeing you like that… It was terrible. And now you've killed yourself so that you can search Heaven on the off chance that he'll be here. I'd do that for my wife, not for my friends. Even if they were the only thing I had left."

Dean dropped his head, taking his eyes off Bobby, who was looking at him expectantly, awaiting a response. Dean wandered round to the bar and leant upon the counter, speaking in a very low voice as he wrung his hands. "Being around Cas…" he began hesitantly. "It feels like the only thing I want to do. He makes me happy. And every time he does something stupid, every time he makes a mistake, I can't hold it against him for even a second. I never felt like I couldn't trust him." Dean took another shaky breath, concentrating on detaching himself from the situation. "I can't… I know you all think… God…" Dean shut his eyes.

"S'okay, boy," Bobby said cautiously. "You don't have to explain yourself. It's fine."

"No," Dean snarled. "I _do_ have to explain myself. I have to –"

"Dean –"

"Shut up for a second, would you, Bobby!" he shouted angrily. Dean took a hissing inhalation through his teeth, all his muscles trembling with strain. _It's just a few more words, Dean_, he thought to himself. _Just a few small words, then it's all over._

Nobody moved.

"You're right, Bobby," Dean whispered in defeat. "I do love him. I do."

Dean looked at his feet, unable to believe he'd just said it out loud. This confession was bigger than every other he'd had to make. But this wasn't the time to be hiding these things. These people were family, after all. And family would always be there for you, no matter what decisions he made, or what his feelings were towards certain angels. Now was the time to fight for all the love that was left in the world and Dean couldn't do it alone, so he had to ask. "Will you help me find him?" he said, his eyes flashing up to the man he saw as his father, embarrassed and shy, nervous and flushed.

"Of course we will," Ellen pledged with pride. "Won't we, Jo?"

"Yeah," she smiled, blinking back salt.

"Anything for our Dean," Pamela grinned. "We're in." She indicated a nodding Ash with a tip of her head.

Bobby put his hands on Dean's shoulders. "We will find Cas," he said with absolute sincerity. "I'm certainly not going to stop until we do."

Dean nodded, wiping away the tears that had welled up in the corners of his eyes. "Thank you," he said. "It means everything to me."

"We know. We've always known," Bobby said with a sad smile and reddened, sore eyes. "So let's go get him."


	13. Chapter 13

"Where are we?" Cas asked, looking inquisitively at the scenery that had suddenly erupted around him.

"You know where we are, Castiel," the snake said from behind him. "You've been here before, in a dream."

"The Garden," he uttered. "But this isn't the Garden that appears to me when I come here."

"No; it's my Garden," explained the snake, walking up to Cas' side. "It's the Garden that God saw, in fact. He and I are… _Remarkably_ similar."

"Why are we here, in Heaven? I thought you didn't want me to find Dean."

"I don't." Cas turned his head to look at him. "I want _Dean_ to find _you_."

"I don't understand."

"Yes you do," he said. "This," he gestured around them. "This is your moment. What you've been waiting for."

"I don't want this."

"Yes you do," the snake purred, coming round to stand in front of the angel, his face just centimetres from Cas'. He placed his hands on the angel's chest, and inhaled deeply, his lips almost touching Cas' lips as he did so. "I can taste it on your breath," he hissed, as though infatuated. Then he was twenty metres away, leaning playfully against the trunk of a tree, tilting his head to the side in invitation. "So," he said. "Are you ready to take your medicine?"

Cas looked up into the branches of the tree that the snake was putting his weight on. Green leaves flourished in their constant full-season glory, their slightly jagged edges giving the tree a more natural, rough effect that was pleasing to Castiel's eyes. And, dangling like great jewels, hung blushing red apples that shone as rich as rubies. They were tempting enough as simple fruits, but when combined with their enlightening properties and forbidden nature, they became downright irresistible.

_No,_ Cas thought to himself sternly. _I won't do this. I won't._

"Having trouble, Castiel?"

"Bite me."

"Oh, I might yet. If Dean doesn't co-operate," the serpent smirked.

"I won't do it," Cas said stubbornly. "I won't defy God."

The snake rolled his eyes dramatically. "Haven't you already? Castiel, this is about right and wrong. The other angels, they weren't given any knowledge at all of what a decision is based upon. The archangels, yes, they know the difference between light and dark, good and bad. And to some extent, so do you. But angels are soldiers, and soldiers follow orders. It makes no sense to give angels the understanding of right and wrong if it'll just make them question their orders. They believe what they are told, without query. Lucifer is bad, Michael is good. But that's not entirely true. Lucifer was misunderstood, and Michael was sadistic and unforgiving. When God picked up His case and left, he could have retrieved his brother from Hell and fixed all this before it started. Just like Dean did. God just didn't expect Michael to be such a pride-filled dick. God left His sons to make their own decisions. It was just unfortunate that they made the wrong ones.

"But you don't have to be like them, Castiel. You don't have to be a sheep, you can be a shepherd of your own will. God has granted _you_ that. And only you. He made you rebellious of them and their disgusting commands to murder and pillage, and it's for a reason, a purpose. He wants you to have your mind, my angel, whilst he has removed all of the others'. Yes, you've made all these mistakes, but that was right for then, whilst you were learning who you really are. You are our saviour. This isn't _defying_ God, Castiel, it's doing what He _wants_ you to do. So let's stop all of this now. Let's make your Father proud of His chosen son."

* * *

"This is ridiculous," Ellen sighed in exasperation. "We're getting nowhere. We don't know where Metatron is, or even how to find him. He could be anywhere up to and past infinity. I say we just pray to the bastard and hope he turns up."

"You know why we can't do that, Ellen," Bobby said brusquely, rubbing his eyes. "Chances are that he wouldn't respond, and even if he did he'd just laugh at us and throw us back to our own Heavens and slam the doors between us. And that's if he doesn't decide to chuck our asses into Hell."

"I know, I know. But we've got nothing else to go on."

"Actually," called Ash from the other side of the room. "We might have something."

Ellen and Bobby rose and moved round to the table where Ash was sat with Dean. They looked over his shoulder at the computer screen that faced him. He clicked a couple of times and Angel FM popped up, as dead and empty as a demon's heart.

"What we have here," Ash began. "Is an opportunity to get Metatron to show himself. Angel radio's not picking up anything right now 'cause nothing's being said. But what if we could mimic an angel's voice and send him a message?"

"He'd freak out," continued Dean. "If he was to hear the voice of a higher class angel than himself, he'd run for the hills. He's just a coward, really. And imagine what he'd be in for if another angel was there to find him."

"There's only one thing we have to consider." Ash took over again. "We need an angel that wasn't in Heaven at the time of the spell casting, and we need someone who he doesn't know for certain is dead or where they are. So we can't use Michael or Lucifer, and Metatron knows Raphael is dead because he doesn't have another vessel at the moment so he had to be in Heaven. And all the other angels higher up than Metatron were in Heaven at the time, trying to keep control."

Dean thought for a second. "Gabriel?"

Ash pointed at him, grinning. "Ding ding ding! Gabriel wasn't in Heaven, he's got a reputation as a trickster, and he's able to disguise his existence from the entirety of the Heavenly host. Only problem is, we don't have a recording of Gabriel's voice – dude never used angel radio."

"What do we need?" Ellen asked.

"Anything," Ash replied openly. "His human voice'll do, even. I can make a translation of that if I need to."

Dean started up. "He made us a video message. We could use that."

"Great," Bobby said. "Where is it?"

"In my car," Dean answered.

"Right then," Ash said as he got out of his chair. "We'll just go back to your Heaven and get the disc out of your car."

Dean hesitated. "Wouldn't we need to… Go into a good memory after the time that he gave it to me?"

Ash raised an eyebrow. "That's a problem for you?"

"Yeah, maybe."

"Come on." Ash pulled Dean out of his seat and towards the Roadhouse door. "We'll find something. What was the date that he gave it to you?"

"I have no idea," said Dean. "A few weeks before we stopped the Apocalypse?"

"That will do," Ash said in concentration as he drew a pattern in white chalk upon the wood. "Let's go."

Dean stepped out through the door, and immediately wished that he could go back. This was _not_ a memory he wanted to share.

"What's up, Dean?" Ash asked as he observed Dean's rigid posture and mortified expression. "Let's find your car."

"Hold up, Ash." He grabbed the other man's arm, forcing him to stop. "You should stay here."

"Why?" Ash demanded indignantly. "Look, I'm not gonna poke around in your Heaven, man. I just want to get this video."

"I'll get it," Dean said firmly. "You stay here."

Ash raised his hands in surrender. "Fine. I get it. There's something here you don't want me to see. Fine. You go. I'll be here when you're ready."

Dean made his way off Bobby's porch and round to the back where he knew the Impala was parked amongst the countless other rusted and wrecked cars in Bobby's yard. The sky was bright but entirely grey with a thin layer of cloud. The gravel crunched and rolled beneath his boots, causing his strides to be smaller than if he was walking on asphalt, as his feet slipped backwards as he took each step.

It was the day after Chicago, when Death had given Dean his ring and had told him how to open Lucifer's cage using it and the rings of the other three Horsemen. Sam, Bobby and Cas had prevented the outbreak of Croatoan virus, and Cas had used a shotgun for the first time in his life, due to him losing all of his angelic power after sacrificing himself so that Dean and Sam could rescue Adam.

Dean trudged over to his car, hands thrust in his pockets, head down. He could feel the four rings under his right hand, but he ignored them, instead pulling out his keys. He climbed into the driver's seat and found himself reclining. _Remember what you're here for_, he snapped at himself. _Focus_. He started to reach for the glove compartment.

"Hello, Dean," Cas said, appearing in the passenger seat.

Dean jumped. "I thought you didn't have any mojo."

"I don't," replied Cas. "I opened the door."

"Oh." _Stop_, he said to himself. _Don't play along. Get the disc, get out._ "Bobby told me you were whining the night before last." Dean smiled comfortingly at the angel. "Something about you feeling useless."

Cas' forehead creased. "Why would Bobby tell you that?"

"Dunno. Maybe he thought I could make you feel better."

"Dean," Cas said. "I've lost everything I used to have; everything I used to be. Demons used to _cower_ in my presence and now I can't kill the lowest of the demon ranks. I can't even fly –" Cas' voice broke as though he would cry. Dean put a tentative arm around his shoulders.

"Hey," he said quietly. "You're gonna be okay, Cas. You're gonna get your angel mojo back, but until then you're going to have to just… Be human."

"I'm useless as a human," Cas muttered bitterly.

Dean pulled Cas closer, completely giving in to the memory. "No you're not," he asserted resolutely, catching Cas' eyes. "Hey. You saved Sam's life yesterday. You stopped the Croatoan virus from being released upon the world. You will _never _be useless, you understand me?" _Get out now, Dean. Get out._

Cas nodded. "I understand you," he murmured, allowing his body to relax and slacken as he leaned onto Dean's shoulder more and more…

Dean's heart was fast but his lungs still breathed deep and slow. "I'm never going to leave you, Cas," he whispered. "If you stay like this forever, I'll be right here. And when you need me, all you have to do is ask."

Cas rose out of his position on Dean's shoulder, and the Hunter was forced to remove his arm from around the angel. "Why would you do that for me, Dean?" he asked, his eyes both grateful and terrified.

Dean looked straight at him, face full of certainty. "Because we're family," he said simply. "And that's what family does."

Then his angel began to weep.

Dean reached out and took him into his chest, where Cas nestled his nose into his shirt, and where his tears mixed with Dean's old-leather scent. Dean rested his chin atop Cas' head, where he shushed into his dark, ruffled hair, and lay soft words onto his follicles. The words that sent shivers down Cas' spine and came back up to rest at the nape of his neck, where the fingers of Dean's right hand toyed with the small curl of hair that fluffed up like a duckling's down.

They stayed like that until Dean felt the memory begin to fade, and he drew his hand from around Cas' waist to fumble around in the glove-box. His fingers closed on the DVD case and then he was back in the Roadhouse, with no Cas, no car, and no patch of wetness on his chest. He looked up brokenly at the others from where he sat on the floor.

"Is this it, Dean?" Ash asked, plucking the DVD from Dean's frozen hand. Dean nodded dumbly in reply.

"Let's give him some space," Ellen said quietly to the assembly. They nodded their concurrence, then they were gone from Dean's sight.

Dean himself, as though he was a small child, curled up in his sitting position, burying his face between his knees. He became utterly numb, the tears falling from his eyes only felt by body, not by mind. He wept until he could cry no more, and, his torn soul exhausted, he drifted off to sleep. Bobby caught him as he fell sideways, then he lay the boy gently down to rest.


	14. Chapter 14

Cas approached the tree and the man with a step that seemed almost careless, but in fact it was very deliberate. "The last person who said that to me was Crowley," he said as he walked, positively furious in his quiet way. The snake smirked, but his eyes betrayed his discomfort. "And I was a fool then to believe him. I was too proud. I am _not_ that person anymore. You think that I would be so arrogant now that I would _forget_ what happened last time I thought myself better than everyone else in the Universe? I near enough destroyed the world, and you think I haven't learnt from that?" He came to a halt two paces from the snake's sneer.

The serpent laughed softly, and leant away. "I think nothing of the sort. Of course you've learnt your lesson – I was just playing, Castiel. Your reaction was… Delicious." He seemed to ponder a thought. "But playtime's over now. You'll do what you must in time, I need to wait, that is all. So let's have a little chat in the meantime."

Cas looked at his face in suspicion. "What do you want to talk about?"

"Dean," he replied. "Obviously. And I want to ask you a bit about your past, about the decisions you made, the thoughts that you thought."

"Why?"

"To pass the time. And so that you can get an understanding of just how broken you really are, but that's just a side effect, you understand." The snake sighed dramatically. "Shall we begin?"

Cas contemplated his situation, then nodded once, cautiously, deciding that his situation could get no worse. The other man beamed and clapped his hands together in delight. "Wonderful. First off, then, can we talk about when you met Dean, and the first year with him. After you pulled him out of Hell, that is."

"What do you want to know?" asked Cas vacuously.

"When you were Heaven's bitch," the snake began, gesturing absently. "What did you think about the Winchesters? Initial thoughts, then later feelings etcetera, after you'd gotten to know them a bit, if you don't mind."

The angel avoided the viper's blue eyes, and instead he observed the cracked lines that the bark made upon the tree trunk. He traced their patterns with his fingers as he talked. "Sam wasn't a bad person. I could tell that just by watching him. A little misguided, and dangerous to himself and others in no small quantity, but the way he was with Dean… He was not evil. All the other angels saw him as this abomination, but they weren't looking properly. He was trying to save lives. It wasn't his fault that he had to bear the curse put upon him. He used it in the most benevolent manner he could, but he was wrong to try and use it. His intentions were noble, at least.

"And Dean, he was tortured. I had never seen such a guilt-ridden soul in all of my existence. But I had never seen a soul so _good_ either. The things he had done in Hell, they felt worse to him than the things that had been done to him. And, burdened with those memories, he still carried on. In his own human way. Without a thought for himself, he tried so hard to make good of every situation he faced. For his brother, for his patchwork family, for the rest of the world. Dean wouldn't stop. Ever. He talked about being tired a lot, but it never brought him to his knees. I admired him. I still do. It was an honour that was bestowed upon me when I was chosen to become his guardian."

"And what then?" the snake prodded gently, his voice no longer harsh or loud. It was caring and thoughtful, which would have bothered Cas if he'd been paying attention.

"I spent more time with Dean – and Sam, but mainly Dean. And then I had to lock him up in a room whilst he waited for the end of the world to start so that he could accept Michael into his body. I couldn't do it. Everything Dean and Sam had worked for, and all that they'd lost trying to stop this very thing from happening… I couldn't let it all be for nothing. I rebelled against them and I lost no small amount of my power, but I didn't regret it for one second. Dean meant more than being able to kill demons, and even when he was ready to give himself to Michael, I did not regret. When he rejected Michael, I knew I would follow him anywhere. I had never seen anyone like him in all of my billions of years. I knew I could trust him completely. And when the Apocalypse was upon us, I went to that graveyard and I died so that he could just have a chance at stopping it. Why am I telling you all this?"

"Oh, Castiel. Don't stop now," the snake begged. "Can't you see? You're on the brink of something here; please just carry on until you realize what it is."

"On the edge of what?" Cas demanded.

"If I tell you," he replied, each word spoken through his teeth. "Then it won't be _real_."

"What won't be real?" Cas grew hotter.

"Calm down, angel," the snake huffed. "You'll figure it out soon enough. Perhaps you already have, but you don't want to say it. It's quite obvious to me, as I've already told you."

"You haven't told me anything," snapped Cas. _"What do you mean?"_

"Forget it, Castiel," the serpent sighed dejectedly. "Dean'll come for you soon enough."

"That's right, he will." Cas looked the snake in the eye with a confidence that the viper casually observed. "And when he gets here you will never get what you want because we'll be long gone."

"Let's hope he gets here soon, then," the viper said as he turned away and sent a small, satisfied smile at the ground.


	15. Chapter 15

"Dean." A small hand shook him awake. "Wake up," Jo insisted. "We're ready. Ash's finished uploading Gabriel's voice."

Dean rubbed his eyes with his arm and sat up groggily, stifling a yawn as he did so. He watched Jo's blurry figure retreat as she returned to Ash's side, where he sat at one of the tables with his back towards Dean, facing his laptop instead. Dean got to his feet with some effort, but was alert within seconds as his hunting instincts kicked in. Ellen touched his arm tenderly as she moved over to let him through, and he smiled back at her.

"I've got Gabriel's voice all ready now, Dean," Ash informed him, his fingers clicking as he stretched. "Just waiting on you for the all-clear."

"What have we got in terms of vocabulary?" asked Dean, leaning forward with his hand on the back of the eccentric genius' chair.

"Anything you want. Type it in and Gabriel will say it. Keyboard's in Enochian though," Ash explained. "It took longer than just collecting together a few phrases but this way we won't get caught out. I thought we'd start with _'Metatron'_. We'll see how it goes from there."

Dean licked his lips and swallowed once to wet his throat. "Fire away, Ash," he directed. And Ash hit the Enter key.

The wait was unbearable.

Four seconds and six held breaths later, a blue spike shot across the screen. "Gabriel," Ash breathed, translating. "It can't be you." His glance was filled with excitement and apprehension as he typed the appropriate response in Enochian and hit the Enter key again.

_"An angel cannot fall to Earth when he is already on Earth."_

Another blue spike flashed across their vision. "The Winchesters told me you were dead," Ash deciphered, his voice shaking slightly as he tapped in the next message.

_"They thought I was. But I have a rather useful talent in faking my own death."_

There was no reply from Metatron. Dean could imagine him sweating and trembling upon his phoney throne and the image caused a small smirk to creep onto his face. Ash typed again. _"I know what you did. Angels are walking the Earth without their wings, and it was you who cast them out! Not even Lucifer would stoop to your level."_

The screen became furious with angelic words. "Please," Ash read. "I can explain. Perhaps you could relate. You, too, were forced to flee from Heaven because of your brothers. I just wanted a little payback, that's all…"

"Cut him off," Dean commanded. Ash was quick to react.

_"What you did is inexcusable! I would never have done this to my family. You hid away in the darkness until all the archangels were out of the way and then you pounced on Heaven's disorganised government. You are nothing but a coward!"_

"It's better this way, believe me," Ash said as the blue lines danced again. "No angels telling the world that they're better than everyone else, and on Earth they can still fight demons and kill monsters but now they are forced to act rather than sitting back and watching the world burn…"

"Give it here," Dean ordered. The laptop was turned to him.

_"And what about Castiel?" _he typed, the Enochian letters on the keyboard coming as easily to him as English. _"He can't protect himself against a kid with a kitchen knife, let alone an army of all of Heaven's fallen angels out to get his head."_

"How're you doing that?" Ash was astounded.

"Cas taught me," Dean replied without looking at him. Metatron's reply shot across the screen like an azure comet. "Castiel has always been a vulnerability," Ash continued to translate. "Heaven has wanted to kill him ever since he took you from underneath Zachariah's nose and sent you to stop Sam killing Lilith. And wasn't making him human more merciful than killing him?"

_"Where is Castiel?" _Dean tapped out, finally at the end of his tether. _"Tell me."_

There was a crackle of confusion. And then the response flashed up. "On Earth," Ash said slowly. "I sent him to Earth."

Dean's fingers flew. _"He isn't on Earth, Metatron. So where is he?"_

"What?" Ash looked at Dean with a frown. "I sent him to Earth. He must be there. He hasn't died yet, anyhow. I'd know if he had."

The assembled group of Hunters let out a collective sigh of relief. Cas was alive, in the very least. It was the best news that they could have hoped for, and Dean's shoulders slackened slightly. _"Then where is he?" _Dean typed after a pause.

"I don't know."

_"I have searched Earth, I have searched Purgatory. I have scoured the depths of Hell and he was not there. There is nowhere else he could be but here. So tell me, what have you done with him?"_

"I haven't done anything with him! Honestly I'm as surprised as you are."

"Should we believe him?" Pamela asked tentatively.

"He's not lying," Bobby said gravely. "He wouldn't lie to Gabriel, especially not with all the trouble he's in."

There was a beat of quiet. "Tell him to look for him, Dean," Jo concluded. "Then we'll know if Cas is here or not and if he is here, Metatron can tell us where."

Dean nodded and sent the message through. The screen went dead. "You're not Gabriel," said the figure behind them.

The party spun around in horror, but Dean himself rose to stand and turned slowly, sending Metatron eyes that could have made God himself shrink back in fear. The angel did just that, flinching away as Dean took his place at the front of the group. "You," he uttered in low, wrathful tones. "You took Cas from me. You took away every ounce of angel in him and you dumped him on Earth, expecting him to be _fine_. You will die. And I'm gonna be the one that kills you, you sick son of a bitch."

"Now, now, Dean," Metatron said complacently. "You can hardly do anything. You're dead, for a start. You can't get anywhere near me if I don't let you."

"I have a soul," Dean replied proudly. "And that's all I need. One nuclear reactor to smite your ass."

"Make that six," Bobby growled, moving to Dean's side.

The short, grey-haired angel chuckled. "You're nothing. Little insects in the Universe. And now, I'm going to cast you all out of Heaven and into the fire… Just because I can do that now."

"I wouldn't be so quick on the trigger if I were you."

Metatron's face paled as the ever so familiar voice echoed across the room. He squeezed his eyes shut as he said shakily: "Gabriel."

"Hey, bro," Gabriel called cheerily from where he leant against the wall. "Long time, no see."

The archangel came across the room, passing Metatron, who shuddered at the brush of wings that Dean could not see, and coming to stand with the company of Hunters. "I thought you were dead," Metatron gulped, fidgeting with the buttons on his shirt.

"Yeah, about that…" Gabriel's eyes twinkled. "These guys were right. I do have a knack for getting myself out of death. And they were right about another thing. What you've done is inexcusable."

"Gabriel," Metatron pleaded. "You must understand…"

"There's nothing to understand!" The caramel-haired angel snarled, coming up so close to Metatron that their breath intermingled. Metatron's trembling gasps with Gabriel's furious exhalations. "Now you're going to tell Dean where Castiel is or I am going to kill you right here, right now. Or I might let Dean, considering that his quarrel with you is somewhat more personal."

Metatron glanced at Dean's cold glare over Gabriel's shoulder, then looked back into Gabriel's whiskey eyes. "Why do you care whether he finds Castiel?" he queried timidly, bracing himself against an invisible blow.

"Because Castiel is my brother if you didn't notice, and Dean is the only reason why I haven't given up yet. Why I am still fighting for this world even after everyone's messed it up," Gabriel answered, his voice hard but his dark gold eyes soft. "And even though I gave him all he needed to stop the Apocalypse, I still owe him. So are you going to tell him where Cas is or not?"

The angel quaked. "I didn't put him there, I swear. I had no idea he'd even been taken off Earth –"

"Just tell him, you _dick_," Gabriel spat, grabbing Metatron by his collar.

"He's in the Garden!" the Scribe yelled in terror. "He's in the Garden. Please just let me go."

Gabriel looked at his prisoner with disgust, as though he was a 4-foot worm from the depths of the ocean. "Do you need some help getting there, Dean?"

"If you don't mind." Dean watched the archangel warily.

Gabriel nodded slowly. "Give me your hand, Dean," he requested, taking one of his from the other seraph's throat and stretching it out to him. Dean raised an eyebrow, but placed his hand in Gabriel's without complaint. The second their hands were linked they reappeared in some other part of Heaven which was not the Garden. "Gabriel," said Dean hesitantly. "Where are we?"

"Angel rehabilitation. We use it to, ah, keep angels who've gone astray and need some Bible time." He sneered down at the limp Metatron in his grasp. "I'll be back for you," he said quietly into the Scribe's whimpering face. Then he pushed the lesser angel away and clicked his fingers, causing a bubble of holy fire to spring up like a cage around him.

"I'll need your hand again," Gabriel said flatly, and Dean noticed that he'd let go of the angel after their flight.

"Right," he hissed under his breath, and slipped his hand back into the angel's. They lost contact the moment they landed, as Dean staggered around on wobbly knees in his dizziness.

"Here we are," Gabriel observed. "You go find your boyfriend, and I'll go steal your body back from Crowley and put you back together."

"He's not my boyfriend," the Hunter protested.

"That's not the way I hear it," Gabriel beamed. "I've been watching you ever since I met you. I've seen it all. And if he's not your boyfriend now then he's going to be soon. When you find him won't he be just so pleased to see you? I imagine he'll be rather grateful too…" Dean grimaced. "Sorry. I couldn't resist. But be careful, Dean. Whatever it is that's got Cas is more powerful than anything I've ever known, save for God. You'll need some sort of miracle to pull this off."

"I know." Dean bowed his head. "But it's all I've got to go on. And it's not like miracles haven't happened before, huh?"

"I thought you didn't believe in miracles," the angel said, stifling a smile but not quite disguising it in his voice.

"I didn't," he admitted. "But then I found out that angels exist, that God gives a crap about me and that Cas is gonna be with me 'till the end. And I can't explain any of those things."

Gabriel turned his face away. "Good luck, Dean," he said. "I'll be praying for you."

"Yeah," Dean scoffed, and then was serious. "Thanks."

The flutter of wings indicated the archangel's absence, then Dean was alone in the Garden of the Lord, and Cas was finally within reach.


	16. Chapter 16

"He's here," the serpent breathed. "At last."

"Dean," Cas whispered, his tone filling with longing, gazing off into the trees.

"Not long now, Castiel. I expect he'll come into view in precisely… Eleven seconds."

The angel held a snagged breath as the clock in his head ticked. Tock. Tick. His heart raced out of time with itself but he didn't notice. His eyes were focused on the shadow that was moving through the trees, closer and closer. That slight dark movement had caught his attention with the familiarity of a man with his own soul.

And the figure broke through the shade, and sunlight caught upon his upturned face, illuminating his viridian eyes. Dean's pupils shrunk as they recoiled, and he blinked, long lashes grazing his cheeks. His glorious glance found Cas in an instant, and Cas gazed back, unable to comprehend the bare, bodiless soul he saw before him. No longer was he the ripped, Hell-bound Hunter from Lawrence, no longer was he Michael's plaything, the intruder upon an apocalypse destined to end the world. He was a brilliant, shining warrior of the Earth. Cas could hardly realize his human beauty. If there was any moment in which he knew what God had meant by making humans his favourites, this was it.

And then Cas' immortal knight began running, and Cas himself found his legs moving, his chest heaving, his arms pumping. Screw Heaven and Hell and screw God, because this was all Cas wanted; all he had been waiting for, for ever so long. Someone whom he could cherish, worship, adore… And love. The very essence of the Universe seemed to collapse in on itself as they grew closer, closer.

Then they hit it.

An invisible wall, keeping their hands and bodies and lips apart as though it was a pane of bulletproof glass. "Cas!" He could see Dean's desperate lips move as he slammed his fists against the barrier, but he could hear no sound.

"Dean," Cas said again. He could not bear to watch as the Hunter's face fell as he realized that he could hear nothing that came from Cas' throat.

"No," Dean mouthed, his eyes pricking as he collapsed against the wall. Cas closed his eyes too tight for light to pass through his lids, leaning his forehead into the cool surface of the barrier.

"You thought I'd make it that easy for you, Castiel?" the snake inquired smugly as he came to stand by Cas' shoulder.

"No," Cas replied, disallowing his voice from trembling. "But I hoped."

"Hope is such a frail little thing, isn't it?" the viper mused. "A very _human_ little thing. You've been becoming more human since you dragged that sorry one out from beneath the ground, as though the two of you passed a little of each other along in the process. You left quite a mark on him. I wonder why, then, seeing as you're so connected, that you can't see what's wrong with his soul right now."

Cas' neck almost broke with the speed at which it jerked up. Dean flinched away from the barrier in surprise and hhis eyes widened as he watched Cas' face fall and shatter. The angel's eyes peered deeply into the Hunter's.

"He's broken," he stated in a flat tone, as though he barely could believe it. "There's something missing."

Dean frowned in bemusement as he serpent smiled and came to put his chin on Cas' left shoulder. The exchange was foreign to him, and it pained Cas to see him there in his ignorance. "Cas," he said in silence, pleading with his expression. "Cas, what is it?"

The angel turned away from him to face the snake, who was smirking with all the malice of a demon. But no, he was worse than a demon. No demon would keep Cas from Dean. Hell, no demon would be sadistic enough to be this creature's associate, let alone the monster itself. "What did you do to him?" Cas snarled. "Where's his _soul_?"

"Castiel, darling, I did nothing to him," the viper answered honestly. "He gave his forgiveness to a Reaper in exchange for a two-way ticket to Purgatory and back, and then that piece was… Passed on, hand to hand, until it finally ended up in mine."

"What did you do with it?"

The serpent let out a frustrated hiss. "Can't you work it out yourself? Or are you really that stupid that you can't figure out what I could use a fraction of a soul for?"

Cas' blue eyes became shallow in denial. "No."

"Oh, _yes_," the snake beamed. "Your new Grace. Dean's soul. One and the same."

Dean's hands slammed against the wall, causing glassy echoes to reach Cas' deafened ears. He couldn't look at Dean, though. He couldn't bear to. The human had given a part of his eternal soul, the most precious part of himself, to look for his friend in places he did not exist. The same friend who'd betrayed him over and over again, and who'd ignored his prayers even when there was nothing to stop him from answering. The friend who had died and died and lived and died over and over and caused him so much pain, and who had lost faith in him even when others wouldn't. When Cas had talked of giving everything for Dean, he had never considered anything like this.

"His forgiveness," Cas said with dry throat. "If he's lost his forgiveness then why has he come for me?"

"You _are _his forgiveness. He is able to forgive you but no-one else. Not that he ever blamed you for anything in the first place." The snake was virtually compassionate. "But now there is a question spinning around in your brain… A panicked, flustered question, one that you always ask yourself." He stalked around the angel, who followed him warily. "What should you do now, Castiel?"

By some dulcet suggestion, the viper had led Cas to be gazing at the red fruits that hung like opulent orbs from the Tree of Knowledge once again. The idea was as clear as the epiphany as to what Cas should do, and his belly clenched with sickened tension. A cacophony of rancid doubts wove their way through his mind, leaving chafed resistance in the place of his stubbornness.

"Can I talk to him?" he asked, swallowing hard. "Please."

The snake raised his eyebrows and smothered a grin as he sensed Cas' collapse. "You can have him after. No need to speak with him, is there?"

"If you think that talking to Dean will change my mind then you –" He stopped. "Then you're wrong."

"I'm not that easy to convince, Castiel," the serpent reminded him. "He's been able to pull you back into the safety net before. How do I know that he won't this time?"

"Because he still needs his soul," Cas said simply.

The snake considered it for a moment. "Fine," he decided. "You can talk to him. I just need to have a quick word first, alright? Seeing as he has no idea what's going on."

"Fine."


End file.
